


The Benefactress

by Aurelia_Combeferre



Series: The 1830s AU [3]
Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: AU, Drawing Room Comedy, F/M, Feminism, Gen, Romance, sociopolitical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 13:57:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 24,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4224264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurelia_Combeferre/pseuds/Aurelia_Combeferre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in the universe of "When Apollo Met Persephone".  In which Eponine is at the forefront of negotiations regarding an ambitious project, and finds herself dealing with drawing room drama and a foe out to settle an old score. It's just another challenge for a lady who isn't going to be a gamine forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

****

**The Benefactress**

_Part 1: A Project in a Drawing Room_

The neighbourhood of the Marais was not a usual venue for political saloons; such uproarious discussions were usually carried out in the Faubourg Saint-Antoine or the Latin Quartier. The one exception was at 6 Rue des Filles du Calvaire, a house well known to the ultras of Parisian society as well as the members of the city’s political parties. ‘ _Some would say too well known,’_ Cosette Pontmercy could not help thinking one Saturday in November as she surveyed the crowded drawing room of her home. Unlike most other meetings of this sort, there was not a single male in attendance: Marius was still away at work, their son Georges was sleeping in the nursery, while Jean Valjean had been talked into a lengthy game of cards with old Gillenormand. It was the perfect opportunity for the young Baronne to play hostess to a few dear friends affiliated with the women’s club _Les Femmes Pour Egalite et Fraternite,_ as well as some ladies who’d been her school friends at the convent in Picpus.

“You know it’s the way of the world to make repairs only at the last, or after a sudden change like widowhood. I am not surprised at Madame Fontenay’s desire to bestow her material goods elsewhere and retire to a convent,” one matron remarked drolly before sipping her coffee. “It’s far better now, so she can still see the fruits of her benevolence.”

“Living better over the years would be more noteworthy and virtuous,” Leonor Torres said severely as she set down a paper she’d been discussing with another acquaintance. The snappish bookshop girl crossed her arms.  “Did she say where she will bequeath her fortune?”

“To some home for orphans, or perhaps to raise a house for the homeless,” the matron replied primly as she smoothed out her skirts. “Though rumor has it she may bestow it on some horrible relation of hers.”

Cosette shook her head as she helped the maidservant Nicolette set down some plates of small cakes.  She could not quite recall how their conversation had turned to a rather indelicate topic, which made her all the more eager to steer the talk back to something a little more sensible. “Whatever decision she makes will be all for the best,’ she said calmly as she took a seat on her favourite armchair.

Leonor clucked her tongue. “You are far too kind, Cosette.”

“Madame Fontenay is known to my aunt---meaning Marius’ aunt,” Cosette clarified. ‘ _Though I wouldn’t dare to call her an intimate friend of mine,’_ she thought, recalling the silver haired dowager who prided herself on keeping her narrowed eyes trained only on the highest society. It only stood to reason that this lady would tolerate the daughter of Luc-Esprit Gillenormand, and have nothing to say to a girl who’d once been a Fauchelevent. “I am sure that she has some worthy cause or project in mind,’ she added.

 “Such as the lessons for the girls in the faubourgs,” Allyce Legendre grumbled. The fishwife cracked her knuckles and regarded the other women balefully. “We cannot progress with that project.”

In a corner Claudine Combeferre sat up straight to eye the leader of their group. “Allyce, we already have a place to hold the classes in, and so many friends have volunteered to teach sewing, reading, and even cooking.”

“A house that we only borrowed, and friends who can come and go. We need a more permanent arrangement, and that cannot be paid for from the society’s funds alone,” Allyce retorted.

“Unless we start mandatory contributions---which we should not do,” Claudine pointed out.

An exasperated sigh came from the sofa where Simone Moreau was seated. The pert seamstress scowled as she nearly spilled crumbs on her puce dress. “I don’t see what the problem is. There’s a lady who wants to do good, we want to do good---“

“Simone---“ Cosette began, knowing exactly what her friend was about to say.

“We could just _ask_ Madame Fontenay if she’s interested!” Simone continued. “I don’t think it’s impolite to mention it.”

“Asking won’t be enough. We have to make this happen,” Allyce said.

“Through that way?” another young lady asked. “Allyce, it’s convenient but it’s asking a lot.”

“Unless your brother can raise up money out of his foundry, Citizenness Duplay, I don’t think we have other ideas,” Allyce answered harshly.

“Something else will present itself,” Cosette chimed in. ‘ _Though what might it be what with so much to do and so little to get it from?’_ she wondered. Although there was much support for their group thanks to recent efforts and successes with the legislature, it did not necessarily assure the perpetual endorsement from the more well-off individuals in Paris. ‘ _They’ll get used to considering other kinds of good works besides leaving donations every Christmas,’_ she told herself even as she heard footsteps at the front door. She discreetly got up and slipped to the entrance hall to greet this visitor, already having some idea who this might be. “There you are, Ponine! I was wondering when you’d arrive.”

“I had a little bit more to do at work today,” Eponine replied a little breathlessly as she adjusted her grip on the squirming infant in her arms. “There, there Laure. We’re just visiting for a bit.”  

“I’ll hold her while you get settled,” Cosette offered, reaching for her goddaughter. She smiled as Laure gave her a startled look for a moment before cooing and snuggling in the crook of her elbow. “Where are Enjolras and the boys?” 

“Antoine is meeting with some legislators who came all the way from Arras. As for my brothers, they’re visiting Courfeyrac. I s’pose they won’t be back till after supper,” Eponine said as she took off the white pelisse she wore over a green dress. She paused on hearing the chatter from the next room. “What are they talking about now?’

Before Cosette could answer, Allyce stepped into the hall. “Eponine, there is an important matter that you must see to. Personally,” Allyce said briskly, motioning for Eponine and Cosette to follow her back to the drawing room.

Eponine nodded slowly even as Cosette handed Laure back to her. She greeted the other guests warmly before finding her favourite seat near the window. “Now what might that be?” she asked as she settled Laure on her lap.

“You’ve probably heard about Madame Fontenay and her plans to be generous,” Simone replied.

“I have, so what of it?”

“We need you to tell her about our project with lessons for girls. She might want to give something there, not just once,” Simone said.

“Meaning as a legacy,” Leonor said. “That way our resources would be sustainable.”  

Claudine sighed as she got to her feet and moved to sit next to her friend. “It’s only a suggestion, Eponine. Only one possible avenue.”

“This cannot be just a suggestion, Claudine,” Allyce said. “Madame Fontenay is choosy with company, and she will not talk to anyone less respectable.”

“You’re the leader of this group. I don’t s’pose she’ll object,” Eponine pointed out.

“You’re a legislator’s wife. She won’t have any other,” the young Duplay girl said beseechingly. “She’s absolutely terrible to everyone else.”

“Then why are we bothering with such a person then?” Eponine asked. “I shouldn’t like to have perpetual disagreements about other small things if there is something wrong at the beginning.”

“That will mostly depend how you handle the negotiation, Eponine,” Allyce said pointedly.

‘ _Now she’s done it,’_ Cosette realized, seeing how Eponine’s eyes flashed with that haughty fire everyone already knew too well. It was impossible now for her friend to simply let this challenge go unanswered. “Perhaps another intimate friend of hers---“

“I will not have any problem if it is just making an acquaintance and asking. I’ve done that sort of thing often enough before,” Eponine replied, sitting up straight and looking right at Allyce. “I’ll call on her as soon as I can, tomorrow if I should.”

Claudine shook her head. “You don’t have to do this, Eponine.”

“It’s only a bit of asking. If she doesn’t like it, then that’s the endo f it.” 

“Then do it on a Monday. The Fontenays are always out of the city on a Sunday.”

Cosette sighed as she regarded her childhood friend. It would take more than Eponine’s infamous wilfulness and way with words to win the day. Perhaps Eponine was thinking the same thing too, since she remained rather pensive and silent even as the discussion turned to other projects and recent successes. “Eponine, can I call on you tomorrow?” Cosette asked discreetly.

The younger woman nodded. “To be honest, I don’t know how I’d speak to one such as her.”

“Why so?”

“I’ve heard she can be quite set in her ways, and she dislikes anyone telling her so.”

“You don’t have to tell her that,” Cosette said. “The trick would be to convince her why she’d find this appealing to her sensibilities.”

“How would I do that?” Eponine asked.

“If you can talk of her Christian duty, or perhaps of how she would like to be remembered, that would be one thing.” She patted Eponine’s arm on seeing her friend’s face twist at these ideas. “It leaves a bad taste in your mouth, I figure?”

Eponine smiled wryly. “I’d feel silly being young as I am and telling her of it. I s’pose we shall have to think of something.”

“Then it is very well that we have the rest of the weekend to find out,” Cosette said more amiably. Surely there was something that could encompass the years and ideas between them and the lady who could possibly settle their difficulties.


	2. We Who Live the Fine Life

****

_Part 2: We Who Live the Fine Life_

As far as Azelma Thenardier Prouvaire was concerned, Sundays were now the best days of her week. “We’re not needed to see things at the theater, most people are asleep or at church, and those people we want to see are usually not far away,” she told Jean Prouvaire as they were readying for a leisurely afternoon stroll. 

“It’s the perfection of time,” the poet concurred as he put on a large hat. “Are you planning to call on anyone in particular?”

“No. I’m only meaning to see and get some ideas for sketches,” Azelma replied. She crossed their apartment to the small table in a corner set up expressly as her work space, and then snatched up several half-finished drawings of frilly dresses and gowns. “For the costumes in your new scene. I can’t very well have the actresses in plain muslin dresses; they’d fade into the backdrop,” she explained as she held up the sketches.  

He nodded understandingly. “Especially considering how it’s painted?”

She sighed as she set down the sketches and then grabbed a few pins so she could put up her braided hair in a knot at the back of her head. “From the highest seats, white dresses look like nothing beside that tower you have planned.”

“I might have to suggest some alterations then,” Jehan said even as he held out a hand to her. “Are you ready to go?”

Azelma smiled widely as she took his hand. These walks with her husband were something she always looked forward to. It thrilled her to no end that he was happy to be seen with her in public, to show her the wonderful things he always found in this city, and simply share this time with her. ‘ _I wonder how many other finely married ladies can say that same thing,’_ she thought as she looked around their cluttered but nonetheless welcoming abode, piled high with books, musical scores, costumes, and other sundry belongings. How could she have ever once spurned this in favor of glittering and cold luxury?

Even though it had been more than a year since her embarrassing debacle involving an infamous ruby necklace, Azelma still sometimes felt the weight of scrutiny on her, and feared for whispers behind her back. The two consolations she had were the fact that Jehan had forgiven her so wholeheartedly for her part in the affair, and that her sister had done a great deal to keep her out of Saint Lazare prison. ‘ _Never mind that. You’re not Azelma Thenardier, you’re Citizenness Azelma Prouvaire, and that’s a chance to do something different,’_ she reminded herself as she and Jehan headed in the general direction of the Jardin du Luxembourg.

It was an unusually clement afternoon for November, the very sort of day that allowed people to promenade in fashionable bonnets that artfully framed the face instead of hiding it against bitter breezes. Azelma commented on this as she and Jehan sat down on a bench near a statue of a gladiator. “It’s lovely but I do wish someone would invent a way to keep warm should a breeze do arise. Something in the way the hat is made maybe,” she mused.

“I have heard that in some parts of the world, the women prefer a headscarf or veil in lieu of a hat,” Jehan said. “It allows for more adjustments---but I think these are more for modesty’s sake than any concealing from the elements.”

“That does not leave much work for milliners then.”

“That is why they have dyers.”

In the middle of everything Azelma noticed a raven haired, slightly plump girl walking down the path, pausing every now and then as if she was looking for someone. This newcomer was dressed in a fine but dainty light pink gown with a light  purple cape as her only concession to the slightly crisp weather. Azelma sat up straight and managed a hesitant nod at this familiar face, if only for cordiality’s sake. ‘ _I don’t have a quarrel with her specifically,’_ she thought.

This other girl stopped in her tracks. “Azelma! You, right here?” She paused when she saw Jehan. “Good day to you, Citizen Prouvaire.”

“I don’t live very far Citizenness Lafontaine....I mean, Justine,” Azelma said. It was a relief to use this acquaintance’s given name, for the epithet ‘Citizenness Lafontaine’ also called to mind some decidedly less kindly characters.

Jehan got to his feet and motioned for Justine to take the seat. “I hope you’re doing well, Citizenness,” he said warmly.

“On some days,” Justine said with something of a resigned sigh. “You two though! Now you’re married and so grand. Are you still living near the Odeon?”

Azelma nodded. “We’re at the theatre nearly every day now; you might have heard of Jehan’s latest play,” she said proudly.

“I have, of course! I’ve watched at least once” Justine gushed. “The costumes are particularly grand. Your work, so I heard?”

Azelma grinned at this compliment. “Why how did you guess?”

“I remember how you always liked dresses with several rows of flounces,” Justine replied. She looked around before leaning in confidentially. “No one at home knows what I’m up to.”

“How have you come to this quartier, Citizenness?” Jehan asked kindly.

“I simply said that I’d be visiting the church of Saint-Sulpice,” Justine answered.  “That doesn’t mean I can’t call on people after. After all my aunts do that all the time….say you’ve heard of my aunt Madame Fontenay? She used to have the most spectacular salon at the neighbourhood of Chaillot, but now she’s about to retire to a convent.”

“I’ve only heard as much as you’ve told me,” Azelma said ruefully.

Justine’s eyes widened. “Oh? It’s the talk of all of the grand folk of the city. I’m sure your sister knows.”

‘ _Why would Ponine bother with it?’_ Azelma wondered even as she and Jehan exchanged quizzical looks. It was not that Eponine would be completely oblivious to such news, but she had far less time nowadays to busy herself with other people’s affairs. “I wouldn’t know. We were just going to visit her today,” Azelma finally said. “What is so important about your aunt’s secluding herself now?”

“She kept her property when she married her husband. She can’t take all of that into the convent, so she wants to give it to someone or something,” Justine replied. “Maman was hoping she’d leave something as a dowry for my sister,” she added more bitterly.

It was all that Azelma could do not to flinch at Justine’s tone. She knew all too well how her friend felt; both of them had older sisters who were known for being outspoken, brilliant, and wily. ‘ _The biggest difference is that Eponine learns her lessons while Cerise has never been sorry a day in her life,’_ Azelma couldn’t help thinking. A year had done little to dull the memory of the drama that had resulted from the conniving

Jehan coughed uncomfortably. “I’m sure that your family will provide for you well enough,” he said, seeing Justine’s frown deepen.

“I’ll see for myself soon enough,” Justine replied. She looked around again and paled at the sight of a footman coming up the promenade. “Now there’s someone from home, so I must go. May I call on you both soon?” she asked.

“Yes please,” Azelma said. “I had a great time talking to you, after so long.”

“So did I,” Justine said, getting to her feet and making a slight curtsy before fleeing down the walk.

“I never thought she’d be a chatty one,” Jehan remarked after a while.

“Something’s happened,” Azelma mused aloud, dropping her voice in order not to be overheard. “Of course, it’s none of our business.”

Jehan shrugged. “Unless Madame Fontenay is a patron of the arts?”

Azelma chuckled as she squeezed his arm. “Not _our_ arts, darling. If she was, we wouldn’t have to always rehearse plays in the garrets.”


	3. A Rose and Its Thorns

****

_Part 3: A Rose and Its Thorns_

Mondays were always busy at the Stendhals’ office on the Rue des Macons, mostly owing to the influx of mail and requests from various consulates, bookshops, students, and other individuals concerned with the study of various languages. “I do wish that the post would sort out these documents in some way; it’s terribly confusing to find a Spanish book stuck between English documents,” Eponine remarked one morning as she and her employer Odette Stendhal were putting some semblance of order in a heap of new orders. “I s’pose it all looks the same to the postman at times.”

“At least the consulates use their own couriers, if only for confidentiality’s sake,” Odette huffed. She frowned as she held up one particularly bedraggled envelope. “This is not in Russian or anything they speak in Prussian.”

Eponine inspected the writing on the envelope. “It might be Polish. There’s a word or two there that sounds familiar.”

“I didn’t know you knew anyone from there.”

“Not too well; they are more of Citizen Feuilly’s friends.”

Odette chuckled only to fall silent on hearing a thump from upstairs. She scowled and put her hands akimbo. “I’d best go see what Emile is up to. I’ll have a word with him about trying to get his father’s books out of the shelves again.”

It was all that Eponine could do to keep a straight face as she waited for Odette’s footsteps to fade on the stairwell; she knew that in a few minutes the quiet would soon be broken by yet another argument between Odette and Emile.  Fortunately at that moment she heard a squeak followed by the rustling of blankets from Laure’s makeshift wicker cradle in a corner. “Now what do you think of that, _petite?”_ Eponine asked as she scooped up her daughter. “I just fed you, you haven’t made a mess, and you don’t look sleepy, so I s’pose you just miss me?” she asked before tickling the infant. Laure squealed and waved her hands, then laughed louder as Eponine bounced her on her lap.  After a few more minutes of play, Eponine tucked Laure in the crook of her left elbow before sitting down at her desk to write out some new translations. “Some day you’re going to get big enough to read things like this, but before that I s’pose you’ll have to start with drawings. Maybe I’ll get your aunt Azelma or your uncle Grantaire to make some you’d like,” Eponine mused as she filled her inkwell. She chuckled when Laure cooed and stared up at her with something of a curious expression. “Or maybe you’d like to hear stories instead? Your uncle Gavroche is great with telling those, but I have to make sure you don’t learn any of that argot. You’re going to be a proper lady, darling,” she added as she pushed a wayward golden curl out of Laure’s line of sight.

 She had only written a few lines before she heard a single loud knock on the door. Eponine smiled, already guessing who this visitor was. She quietly scooped up Laure and tiptoed to the door in order to open it. “You’re early, Antoine,” she greeted.

“One meeting was called off,” Enjolras replied as he touched Eponine’s shoulder. “Of course I won’t forget you either, Laure,” he added as he ruffled the baby’s hair.

Eponine took the opportunity to kiss her husband’s cheek before pulling him into the office. “I have that, and this article for you; Emile helped me translate it yesterday and he allowed me to make a copy for you. It would be useful for that debate about the navy and the borders,” she said as she handed a few sheets of paper to him. “What do you think?”

“It’s a captain’s log,” Enjolras remarked after perusing the first page of this article. “A very detailed one at that. How did you come across this?”

“An old captain came calling on Odette, and he was telling stories. So I asked, and he said he’d seized a thing or two while fighting the English at Toulon,” Eponine explained as she settled Laure back in her lap. “I s’pose a proper map of the coasts of France would have been useful too, but this mentions a bit about other places in the Mediterranean.”

“It’s useful. Thank you,” Enjolras said as he put the paper in his satchel. “Are you still planning to call on Citizenness Fontenay today?”

Eponine nodded. “Don’t let her catch you calling her _that_.”

“I do not understand the outmoded form of address.”

“You still pronounce Bonaparte as _Buonaparte_.”

 “Which is how he was properly known,” Enjolras pointed out as he reached out to pick up Laure. The baby squirmed in protest for a moment before quickly settling down against Enjolras’ chest and letting out a contented sigh when her father began to rub her back. “This is why your brothers will be visiting the Bahorels later?”

“You know how Gavroche is with Bahorel and his stories, and how Neville and Jacques will always follow,” Eponine replied with a grin.

Enjolras chuckled knowingly.” When Citizen Fontenay was still alive, he financed the education of several young men at the seminary on the Rue Ferou. He and his wife were very exacting in their choice of scholars,” he said more seriously after a few moments.

“So I s’pose that I may have to convince her why it would be a good thing to take care of many pupils instead of just a few, and girls at that,” Eponine mused aloud. “They have never given anything to a school for younger children, or for any school of trade?”

“Never,” Enjolras replied. “This will be quite new.”

‘ _Isn’t everything nowadays?’_ Eponine thought as she inched closer to him. “I’d like to get her to listen to the idea, even for a while, maybe even attend a meeting where it is being discussed.”

Enjolras looked at her intently. “You might thoroughly convince her first.”

“I do hope so,” Eponine said, feeling her cheeks grow warm. It always meant a lot to her whenever Enjolras would commend her debates and public speaking efforts, especially since he was such a gifted orator. ‘ _I should be able to manage if I remember to speak a little more daintily,’_ she told herself as she picked up Laure again. “Tell me what the others think of that translation,” she said.

“Of course.” Enjolras ruffled Laure’s hair once again before giving Eponine a kiss on her forehead. “I’ll see you later, Eponine.”

 Eponine smiled at this familiar reassurance before kissing him back on his lips. “You too,” she said before showing him out the door. As brief as this visit had been it was enough to keep her spirits buoyed throughout the rest of the work day. All the same it still felt as if far too little time had passed by the time the clock struck four and Eponine bundled up Laure before taking a fiacre bound for the Rue de l’Oratoire, in the neighbourhood of the Avenue de Neuilly.

Although she was no stranger to opulence, Eponine could not help but feel uneasy as she caught sight of the sprawling edifice that she knew to be the Fontenay residence. ‘ _I could fit maybe three or four of my own home in there,’_ she realized as she alighted from the fiacre. She felt Laure stir in her arms and let out a whimper. “It’s only a short visit we have to make. We’ll be home soon,” she whispered before kissing the baby and patting her back.  She made a slight bow to the footman waiting at the house’s gate. “Is Madame _de_ Fontenay at home?” she asked.

The footman nodded. “Your name is, Mademoiselle?”

“ _Citizenness_ Eponine Enjolras,” Eponine said. ‘ _Only because at some point the name Madame Enjolras was more for Monique,’_ she thought, recalling her very spirited and accommodating mother-in-law all the way in Aix-en-Provence.

The footman cleared his throat before going into the house to announce Eponine’s arrival. After a few moments he emerged and motioned for her to walk up to the door. “Madame will see you in the drawing room,” he intoned.

Eponine hugged Laure more tightly as she was shown down a corridor leading to a pair of tall doors with gilt handles. These doors opened into a large hall with imposing Corinthian columns on either side of the room. Elegantly carved mahogany settees and high-backed armchairs formed the bulk of the room’s furnishings. A large fireplace embellished with Rococco curlicues and roses stood at the far end of the room. Huge tapestries hung from the walls, both as decor and to protect the room against drafts. Eponine noticed that the tapestries were heavily embroidered with gold and silver thread in the shape of stars and foliage. She took six steps into the room before she heard a cough followed by the sound of a chair creaking. “Good evening Madame de Fontenay,” Eponine said.

A woman rose from a seat near the fireplace. A tall powdered wig covered her head and she wore a voluminous black gown with a high collar and several layers of petticoats. Her face was not wizened but more angular and hawkish in bearing, an impression that was furthered by her thin gilt-rimmed spectacles. She pursed her lips as she surveyed Eponine and Laure. “I have heard much about you, young lady. The Rose of the _Radicaux_ party so they say,” she said slowly. “I expected you would be older. What is your age?”

Eponine bit her lip for a moment, feeling rather shabby even in her best maroon gown and with her long hair properly pinned up, but she willed herself to meet Madame Fontenay’s gaze. “I turned nineteen last April, Madame.”

“I see that you have not been able to employ the services of a nursemaid,” Madame Fontenay said, indicating the baby in Eponine’s arms.

“I believe it would be healthier for my daughter if I could personally attend to her upbringing and education,” Eponine answered. “I do not wish to be a stranger to my child for any point in time.”

“It must be quite the burden on your social commitments, I daresay,” the widow sniffed as she took a seat. “I have also heard about your....coterie and its projects. No doubt this is the intent of your calling on me, to ask if I can finance this venture.”

“Madame, I have also heard that you and your deceased husband---my condolences also too, Madame---have been benefactors too in the past, to deserving young men,” Eponine said. She saw the widow’s eyes widen with a look of surprise. “The intended students, the girls who will be studying in these workshops, are also deserving. They will be useful to their families if they can learn something to bring more francs in.”

“Is it necessary to teach a girl other than what she needs to run her home?”

“It is, to make sure that fewer girls will take to the streets.”

“They are there for the weakness of their characters,” Madame Fontenay sniffed. “These girls need moral schooling, and not a trade.”

“They have the churches and sermons for that,” Eponine replied. “The priests and their boys do not teach our girls how to make a living.”

Madame Fontenay regarded the young woman for a long moment. “You are very bold in your opinions, Madame Enjolras.”

It was at that moment that a footman opened the door. “Mademoiselle Lafontaine has arrived,” he said breathlessly. “The elder,” he clarified.

“Send her in,” Madame Fontenay said. She looked at Eponine curiously. “Are you acquainted with my niece, Mademoiselle Cerise Lafontaine?”

“We have met,” Eponine replied thinly. It was all she could do to hide her disdain; there was no other way she could regard someone who’d nearly destroyed Azelma and Jehan’s good names and had nearly brought down several prominent other men with her rumor-mongering and greed. ‘ _Not to mention everything she said too about me and Antoine,’_ she thought as she adjusted Laure’s bonnet to protect her against the chill.

In a few moments the drawing room door opened, admitting Cerise Lafontaine. The tall brunette was dressed at the height of fashion in a billowing yellow dress paired with a lace pelerine for both warmth and modesty. “Dear aunt, I must ask you about my dowry---“ she began before she realized who else was in the drawing room. Her eyes narrowed as she crossed her arms. “What is she doing here?”

“Madame Enjolras and I were discussing a project,” Madame Fontenay replied, sounding a little taken aback at her niece’s behaviour. “Is there a problem, my dear?”

“She does have a pretty name,” Cerise said in an undertone before making something of a respectful bow. “Will it be long?”

“We’ll talk for a few more minutes, then you shall have all the time you like,” Madame Fontenay said amiably. “She is the sort of girl who should have a fine marriage,” she remarked, looking at Eponine.

“I am sure she has no lack of suitors,” Eponine pointed out, patting Laure’s back as she began to whimper again.  

“That is not enough to arrange a match,” Madame Fontenay said patronizingly. “There are many other things to consider.”

“Since your niece is in such a hurry, when may we talk about this project again?” Eponine asked.

“I will call on you,” Madame Fontenay said. “At your home, of course. You are there in the evenings?”

“Yes Madame,” Eponine replied. She made a quick curtsy. “Thank you for your hospitality Madame,” she added before quickly exiting the room. It was all she could do not to turn back if only to catch a snatch or two of whatever Cerise and Madame Fontenay were discussing. In fact the sound of Cerise’s laughter only served to unsettle her further.  ‘ _I shall certainly have a thing or two to clear up when we meet again,’_ she noted, feeling a shudder of revulsion at the very thought.

 


	4. An Evening's Entertainment

****

_Part 4: An Evening’s Entertainment_

The Latin Quartier, a place that could hardly be known for peace and quiet, always took on a particular sort of gaiety with the departure of the sun. “At which shrine shall we worship tonight, my friends?” Grantaire asked the Prouvaires one evening when he ‘chanced’ to drop in on their apartment immediately after supper. “We have tarried too long with the Muses at the Odeon, and we must pay homage to our other necessities. I am in want of company, what with Nicholine visiting her relations!”

“I haven’t heard of any salons or concerts for this evening,” Jehan called from where he was trying to sort out a large pile of musical scores. “Have you any invitations?”

“Only for the free air of the Marche Saint-Germain,” Grantaire replied as he leaned back in his seat. “It is a cure that alas, poor Hippocrates did not know of. Care to partake of it, Azelma?”

Azelma looked up from where she was shading some of her sketches. “Would there be a fete on a night as cold as this?”

“Not in the square. There is a new cafe run by a relation of old Mother Rousseau---“ Grantaire began. He grinned on seeing his friends’ looks of interest. “The pastries there are choice.”

“Say no more,” Azelma said as she got to her feet and picked up a long satin cape. She threw this garment dramatically over her shoulders. “Is this suitable?” she asked Jehan coyly.

“Yes. Now I must match you,” Jehan replied. He quickly donned a bulky sky blue coat and made a sweeping bow that only resulted in his ash blond hair falling into his eyes. “Am I suitable?”

Azelma giggled before standing on tiptoe to kiss him. “All eyes will be on us.” She relished these nights, when she was more than a muse, and her love was more than a poet. Here, in this part of the Latin Quartier, they held court with their fellow artists and revelled in possibilities that could not be brought into the unforgiving scrutiny of daylight. ‘ _It’s a chance to run into everyone else too,’_ she thought as she linked arms with Jehan and Grantaire on their way out of the apartment. The Marche Saint-Germain was only a stone’s throw away from where her siblings lived on the Rue Guisarde, and a short walk from Joly, Musichetta, and Bossuet’s home on the Rue Ferou. It stood to reason that they and any number of their friends would be at home or in the vicinity of the square.

The trio made their way to the square by traversing the Place du Carrefour de l’Odeon yet even before they were out of this narrow square they could already hear the lively tune of a fiddle on the far side of the square. “Orpheus’ haunt,” Grantaire remarked as they entered the cafe, which was a long hall which featured a high stage in the middle, where now a quartet of musicians had started up their rendition of a reel. “Here he cannot dine, but he can succour all of Paris with his music,” Grantaire added as he led his friends to a table on the room’s periphery.

“Are there other sorts of performances here?” Jehan asked.

“Yes---when there is dancing, here is the stage,” Grantaire said, making a sweeping gesture towards the floor surrounding the platform.

 Azelma grinned approvingly at this arrangement; it was a far cry from the more cluttered interiors of other meeting places such as the famous Cafe du Foy in the neighbourhood of the Tuillieres. As she surveyed the room she caught sight of another trio seated in a corner and sharing out a pitcher of stout mixed with brandy. She slipped over to their table and coughed. “Mind if I help with that?”

Musichetta nearly knocked over her glass. “I didn’t see you arrive! Who are you with?” she asked as she pulled Azelma into a brief hug.

The younger girl gestured to where Jehan and Grantaire were walking over to join them. She grinned at Joly and Bossuet. “It was Grantaire’s idea to come here.”

“Well met, Capital R,” Bossuet said, saluting by way of greeting. “The vapors of the Cafe Du Foy have driven you to a temporary respite to my eyrie?’

Grantaire took a sip from the only glass of water at the table. “The talk there is all about Hymen, and I am a poor herald for that subject matter.”

Musichetta sighed deeply. “Weddings are usually good business but am I _tired_ of making those gowns. To think that so many brides are so exacting!”

‘ _Like you once were,’_ Azelma couldn’t help thinking. “Do tell.”

“A patient of Patrice’s here,” Musichetta huffed. “Imagine, having to make a gown that needs _five_ petticoats! I was meant to sew dresses, not clouds!”

“I have told her that such cumbersome attire would be bad for her gait and carriage,” Joly said as he began massaging Musichetta’s fingers, which were red from a whole day of plying the needle. “It is not as deleterious though as overly lacing the stays too tightly.”

“Now _that_ is what we have trouble with at work,” Musichetta said, tossing her dark curls out of her face. “The latest edition of _Le Follet_ has some lovely suggestions for dresses, but unfortunately they require _less_ of a figure to wear them properly. We seamstresses try our best to adjust but sometimes that overly narrow waist looks absolutely ridiculous on our customers.”

“What then do you tell the ladies who complain?” Jehan asked.

“That I mean to clothe them, not rob them of their breathing,” Musichetta replied. “Perhaps one of you doctors should make some sort of health bulletin about it,” she told Joly.

 _‘That would only be read by ladies if it was written by ladies,’_ Azelma thought as she poured herself some spirits. As she set down the pitcher she caught sight of a girl near the cafe’s entrance, looking around furtively as if she was seeking out someone in the crowd. In a moment she had caught this newcomer’s wary gaze. “Justine!” she called.

The young Lafontaine girl dashed over to Azelma’s side, nearly losing her ribbon trimmed bonnet in the process. “I was so sure I’d be lost,” she whispered sheepishly as she squeezed Azelma’s arm. She made an awkward curtsy as she caught sight of the rest of the group. “I’m sorry. I’ve met some of you before but I cannot remember your names.”

“You’ve met Jehan. I’m sure you’ve met Musichetta too,” Azelma said. “And here with us are Musichetta’s husband Doctor Joly, and Citizens Lesgle and Grantaire.”

Musichetta smiled cordially. “Are you with anyone, Citizenness Lafontaine?”

Justine colored slightly. “No, Citizenness.”

“But what of your mother, or your brother, or your sister?” Azelma asked.

“They’re all at a party,” Justine said.

“Yet you’re alone and far away from your home? Jehan asked more concernedly.

“I know how to hire a carriage,” Justine replied, holding her head high. She looked at Azelma entreatingly. “I know I’m intruding but don’t ask me to go back just yet.”

‘ _There’ll be trouble though if word gets back to the other Lafontaines,’_ Azelma thought. While she trusted her friends to be discreet, even tight-lipped about this particular trouble, she was just as aware that there was no shortage of gossips in the Latin Quartier. As she watched some patrons quitting the cafe, an idea came to mind. “I wonder if Eponine is home,” she mused aloud.

“They all are. Enjolras too. We just dropped by the Rue Guisarde before coming here,” Joly replied as he began wiping his glasses.

“Shouldn’t we send word first?” Jehan asked Azelma.

“It’s not always necessary with one’s siblings. Wouldn’t you say so, Justine?”  Azelma laughed. All the same she had to admit that Jehan had a point; for all she knew, there might have some other important venture that same evening at 9 Rue Guisarde. ‘ _It still counts for something,’_ she resolved silently as she threw on her cape and then linked one arm with Justine’s while slipping her free hand in Jehan’s.

Grantaire let out a disappointed sigh. “Then some other time, you two?”

“We’ll drop by your office,” Jehan said cheerily. “There we can talk, here you can dance.”

“You mock my feet, Prouvaire.”

“I did not mean to be literal, my friend.”

Bossuet did not bother hiding his laughter at Grantaire’s affronted expression. “Send our regards to Enjolras and Eponine. Again.”

‘ _Trouble is more like it,’_ Azelma thought as they exited the cafe. Although it was only a very short walk to her siblings’ home, a brisk breeze further chilled the already crisp evening air such that Azelma was shivering by the time they neared the house.  “There are candles in the study. That means they must be at work,” she remarked, pointing to a light in one of the windows on the ground floor.

“Shouldn’t a study be upstairs?” Justine asked.

“It’s the one room that is quiet enough _and_ near enough to everything,” Azelma said as she ran ahead to knock twice on the door. She rubbed her hands for warmth as she heard footsteps from within. “Hello Gavroche,” she greeted.

“What are you doing here, Zelma?” Gavroche said. In the past few months he’d grown enough such that he was now only a quarter of a foot shorter than Azelma, but he still had yet to achieve a similar result in terms of breadth. He stuck his hands in his pockets. “It’s not a night for masques and mumming.”

“I’ve done enough work for today, now let me be social,” Azelma retorted. While she could never quite get used to Gavroche’s banter, she had to admit that the familiarity of it was one of the reasons she liked dropping in on this house. ‘ _It’s not grand but it certainly is lovely,’_ she thought as she looked around the simply furnished hall, a narrow square that opened out onto several rooms and a staircase. It was the sort of home that she knew her sister had dreamed about when they were still children in Montfermeil: someplace busy, large enough, and with a good garden.

A door swung open in the entryway. “Good evening, brother,” she greeted Enjolras as she saw him exiting the adjoining study.

“To you as well, sister,” Enjolras replied warmly before clasping Jehan’s shoulder by way of greeting. “This is a surprise, Citizenness,” he said cordially to Justine.

“It was Azelma’s idea to be here instead of a cafe,” Justine replied.

“I’ll explain, but only to you and Ponine,” Azelma said. She sighed on seeing Gavroche still listening avidly to this conversation. “Shouldn’t you be in bed by now?”

Gavroche thumbed his nose at her. “That is the prescription for Neville and Jacques. I on the other hand have permission to study the moon.”

“Yes, for your lessons. I advise that you finish your assigned composition right away; you may work undisturbed in the study,” Enjolras said sternly.

Gavroche smirked at him cheekily. “Then I shall draw the moon in all its phases.”

“Not later than ten o’clock,” Enjolras said more sternly even as Gavroche left the room.  He then nodded to Jehan. “Prouvaire, there is a new acquisition that might interest you.”  

“Of what sort?” Jehan asked eagerly.

“A book of sketches, from the Italian consulate. I believe it may inspire a scene or two,” Enjolras replied. “You may find it also useful for your sketches, Azelma.”

“I shall, in a few minutes,” Azelma said, having noticed Justine slipping to the sitting room. She found her friend already perched on the settee, watching the fire in the woodstove. “Why so startled?” she asked on seeing the other girl’s confused expression.

“You called Citizen Enjolras your brother,” Justine said.

“He is my brother by marriage after all,” Azelma pointed out. ‘ _Sometimes he’s better at being an older sibling to my own brothers than I am,’_ she thought. “I never had an older brother, so he is the closest I will get there.”

“Do you really speak to him so informally?” Justine asked. “And him going about so, in his shirtsleeves?”

“Why put on those manners at home?” Azelma quipped. “My sister is much the same way with Jehan.”

At that moment the sitting room door opened, this time admitting Eponine. “I’m sorry I took long. I had to get Laure to sleep first,” Eponine said as she took a seat. She was wearing her long hair down and had done away with the gloves that she usually wore to cover her twisted left hand.

Azelma smiled sympathetically. “You look tired, Ponine.”

“I will be till Laure sleeps through the night. It’s a good thing that Antoine helps out when he can,” Eponine replied as she smoothed down her dress. “ Is Jehan with you two?

Azelma nodded. “My brother has your brother lost in some new book.”

“Oh yes, that. It was a gift from the Italian consulate for some English translations. It’s a rather roundabout story,” Eponine explained. “It’s been some time since I’ve seen you, Citizenness Lafontaine,” she told Justine.

 “That’s my mother, my sister, and my sister-in-law. I’d rather be called Justine,” the younger girl said.

“I s’pose that suits you. Are you visiting anyone else?”

“No one. I was only taking a long evening trip.”

“Without your family knowing anything,” Azelma remarked.

“Now that is where the problem is,” Eponine said, putting her hands on her lap.” I can only imagine what your Maman would say to your running about on a cold night like this.”

“My brother says I am not to be in society much, not till my sister is married,” Justine replied. “It’s easier for them that way, but I’m terribly bored.”

“Can’t you have visitors?”

 I’d rather be elsewhere and seeing things.”

Azelma shook her head, knowing all too well the signs of boredom. Had she really been that exasperating herself not too long ago? “You know, someone at the cafe could have just run to some servant of yours and told,” she muttered.

Justine sniffed. ‘What would it matter? No one concerns themselves with me lately. It’s all about my sister.” She swallowed hard as she met Eponine’s gaze. “She still calls you Citizenness Thenardier, and not Citizenness Enjolras,”

“She’d call me worse,” Eponine said with a shrug. “I’d rather she had nothing to say to me, like when I saw her yesterday, at your aunt’s house.”

Justine rolled her eyes. “She mentioned that. She said she’d tell my aunt you were getting in the way, like you did before.”

“Getting in the way of what?”

“Of her getting married.”

Eponine’s brow furrowed quizzically. “Is there some sort of hurry?”

Justine shrugged. “If there is, no one is telling me why. Everyone wants her to make a rich marriage to some son of a viscount at least, but according to Maman that is not going to happen without a dowry that is bigger than what she already has from our father’s will.”

“So she was asking your aunt for a contribution?” Eponine asked slowly.

“For the fortune. My uncle and aunt never had any children.”

‘ _So Eponine does know of Madame de Fontenay after all,’_ Azelma realized, seeing the perturbed look that crossed Eponine’s face. “Ponine, what are you thinking about?” she asked worriedly.

“What to say when Madame Fontenay calls,” Eponine replied, her look now wry at the same time thoughtful.  She took a deep breath and smiled at her guests.“Enough of that for now. Have you had dinner yet?”

Azelma nodded. “Jehan and I cooked some bacon and potatoes. I wish you had tried some.”

Justine shook her head. “You’re the first one who’s asked.”

“There’s some bread and cold meat if you wish, and I s’pose there is still a little cheese,” Eponine replied. “Then we must get you home somehow, even if by fiacre.”

Justine’s eyes widened. “You’re not going to tell are you?”

Eponine scoffed. “And cause such a ruckus over a harmless thing? I shouldn’t do that for a guest.”


	5. The Perils of Taking in the Air

****

_Part 5: The Perils of Taking in the Air_

Contrary to popular opinion, the Baronne Pontmercy was not entitled to be idle at home.  ‘ _Why would I be, when there is much to do elsewhere?’_ she mused silently the next morning as she looked out the window of her carriage. She sat up straight in order to prevent leaning back too far in the seat and falling asleep; a difficult feat given that she had been up since before dawn to help oversee her household and attend to the needs of her son. ‘ _Fortunately this visit is just to return a call, so I don’t need to stay too long,’_ she thought, already imagining what mischief Georges might get up to even under his grandfather’s very watchful eye.

“Citizenness, we’re already almost at the Place Lafayette,” Basque called from the coachman’s box. “The address is near, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Number 1 Rue des Petits Hotels,” Cosette replied. She took a deep breath as she caught sight of the home of the Montmorency family, whose daughters had been her school mates at Picpus.  It would be the first time she’d see her old chums outside of parties thrown by mutual friends. “I should only be here for an hour, Basque. Maybe even less. Please feel free to have your luncheon early, or even have something to eat,” she said as she alighted from the carriage and then handed a few sous to him.

Basque bowed deeply. “You are too kind, Citizenness.”

Cosette smiled graciously as she walked up to the front door, where she was promptly shown in by a footman. As she walked through the spacious entrance hall she could already hear laughter and exuberant storytelling from a sitting room towards the rear of the house. She paused as she recognized another familiar voice in the din. “So Marie Bouchard is visiting too!” she remarked to herself, recalling this other friend who was also so closely connected to the family.

“I will admit, I was quite shocked by myself,” Marie Bouchard’s clear voice said. “Imagine, asking for a _day’s leave_ , and from the Bishop none the less! I thought he would have made me mortify myself first.”

“And he gave you three!” another woman answered almost breathlessly. It took a moment for Cosette to place this voice as that of Hyacinthe Montmorency, the oldest of the ladies of this house. “That was the biggest shock of all, don’t you think?”

“It’s nothing compared to what we see out in the streets,” said a third voice, that of Hyacinthe’s sister Theresia. “All those harridans selling fish, waving soap and other things in our faces, and those horrible ones who flash their chests and you know what else at the men. I wonder how anyone can stand being around that sort during those fashionable political meetings.”

“Citizenness Enjolras can,” Marie Bouchard said. “The wife of the Latin Quartier legislator.”

“Her? I’m not surprised given where she comes from---“ Theresia said.

“My dear, no one can really _help_ coming from wherever they did, so we mustn’t fault her for that,” Hyacinthe chided. “Though I heard that she does not deserve such a man. He is too honourable.”

“You do not mean---“ Marie Bouchard began.

“They say she was _compelled_ him to marry her,” Hyacinthe replied.

“You don’t mean....”

“I heard it from Madame de Fontenay’s niece, Cerise. Naturally Citizenness Thenardier would employ any means, no matter how low, to keep him tied to her for his wealth and connections.”

“She’d marry some noble’s son if she could have, instead of him,” Theresia sniffed. “Since she could not set herself so high, then she’d go for the next best---“

“Theresia!” Marie Bouchard chided.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s dreamed of becoming the Baronne Pontmercy. I know she’s a friend to the family.”

“Oh hush! How could you say that?”

“You can’t blame a lady for thinking such things.”

Outside the drawing room Cosette shook her head, having heard enough. “Good morning Hyacinthe, Theresia. It’s good to see you again, Marie,” she said as she walked into the room. Her acquaintances looked just as she had expected: elegant and lazy in their pastel colored morning dresses, but thoroughly astonished and mortified.  All the same she still managed to smile as she took a seat. “I am sorry but I could not help overhearing a few words concerning a dear friend of mine,” she said as she smoothed out her skirts.

Marie had the decency to let the color rise to her cheeks. “I apologize, Cosette. It was very unkind to carry on with such talk.”

“After all she is a friend of your husband,” Hyacinthe said in a level tone.

“She was my friend first. We were children together,” Cosette answered. ‘ _That is all I can say to the matter,’_ she decided silently, for it would not do good to throw any more shadows on her friend by mentioning the actual circumstances of their girlhood.  “I know her character, and I can vouch for her loyalty and courage.”

“I was under the impression that you only became acquainted with her upon your marriage to the Baron Pontmercy,” Theresia replied.

“That was only because I had not been able to communicate with her when I began studying at Picpus,” Cosette said with a shrug.  She smiled more amiably at the three other women. “Anyway there are other things we can discuss besides baseless rumors. How have you all been?”

“Very well, thank you,” Marie said, while the Montmorency sisters only nodded in agreement. “How kind of you to ask.”

It was all that Cosette could do not to visibly show her relief even as the small talk shifted to the doings of the Montmorencys and the Bouchards. After an hour she politely took her leave of her friends, promising to call on them again on some other days. When she stepped out of the house she saw Basque waiting by the carriage. “Basque, I have to visit the Rue des Macons. I think that Marius needs the carriage this afternoon, so you must go on ahead home. I’ll come back in a fiacre.”

“What then shall I tell the Baron?” Basque asked.

“I’m only meeting Eponine for lunch,” Cosette replied. En route to the Rue des Macons she made a detour to buy some apples and an assortment of small cakes. She arrived at her destination just in time to find Eponine sitting down at her desk and unwrapping some bread. Laure was propped up on her lap, playing with a little wooden rattle. “May I please join you both?” Cosette asked amiably.

“If you don’t mind eating in a library,” Eponine quipped even as she motioned for her friend to take a seat next to the desk. “Oh, you’ve brought the best fruits of the season!” she remarked on seeing what Cosette had brought.

“You always liked these,” Cosette said, handing one of the apples to Eponine. “You used to always ask your mother if you could have one apple more.”

“She never said no,” Eponine quipped. “Why, you didn’t bring Georges with you! How is he?”

“He’s being as most little boys are said to be at that age, or so Papa and Grandfather say. He’s set on running about and I couldn’t have that while making calls,” Cosette replied. “How was your visit to Madame Fontenay?”

“It was interesting at the beginning,” Eponine replied wryly before taking a bite of the apple. “She sticks so fast to some ideas.”

“She’s had many years to think about them,” Cosette pointed out more gaily as she began dividing up some of the bread. “Give her a little time.”

“I haven’t got much of it, not with everything that is going on,” Eponine said.  She paused to catch Laure’s rattle before she could drop it on the floor. “She said that she’d call on me at my home soon, but I s’pose I shouldn’t hope for it since it’s been some days already. I’ve started to ask around elsewhere for the help we need.”

Cosette nodded understandingly. “While I was visiting my friends I heard that one of Madame Fontenay’s nieces knows of you.”

Eponine’s eyes widened with comprehension. “What exactly has Cerise Lafontaine been saying?” She bit her lip before looking at Cosette. “Tell me everything.”

“That you lured and tricked Enjolras into marrying you,” Cosette said. This was easy to say, if only because this was a rumor they had all heard before, and also because it was so laughable and absurd. She took a few bites of her own food, if only to give herself some time to phrase what she would have to mention next. “Also, that you settled for him, instead of Marius.”

Eponine set down her apple. “How did they ever get that idea?”

“It might have something to do with the fact that he is a Baron,” Cosette pointed out.  

Eponine rolled her eyes. “Did you know that when I first learned about his title, I hardly believed it? I was convinced then that such nobles were all ancient men; I did meet one, once, and he was more than a hundred years old. All I knew of Marius was that he was a handsome, nice young man who lived next door to my family in that Gorbeau hovel, and perhaps someone I could speak to.”

Cosette shuddered at the memories of that squalid tenement. “You gave him my address so we could meet again. You could have very well said nothing about it.”

“Maybe but what good would it have done anyone? He’d be pining, you would have pined too or forgotten about him, and I’d still be in the gutter,” Eponine pointed out as she smoothed some wayward curls out of Laure’s eyes. “Besides imagine me, a Baronne? I’d be terrible, nothing at all like you!”

Cosette sighed. “You would have learned the part.”

“I s’pose but imagine how silly it would be with my name, or to be talking our present politics with such a title.” Eponine sat up straight and put a hand forward as if to show off expensive rings. “I’d be the most ridiculously fashionable Baronne by not making any sense.”

Cosette couldn’t help but laugh, which prompted Laure to squeak and giggle as well. “There now, you’ve set her off,” Cosette said when she regained her composure.

“She can’t help learning to laugh. She likes to mimic Jacques,” Eponine remarked proudly. “Soon enough she’ll be teaching Antoine to laugh more too.”

“I think he won’t need much prompting in that direction,” Cosette said. She stood up on hearing footsteps from the back office. “I’m sorry if I’m intruding, Citizenness Stendhal,” she said to Eponine’s employer, who had just walked in carrying a sheaf of papers.

“You should do this more often,” Odette chimed in. “Eponine, as soon as you can be spared, could you please give this translated collection to the printer Citizen Santerre? He’s by the Palais du Louvre. I’ll watch Laure for you in the meantime.”

Eponine nodded as she got to her feet and brushed crumbs off her clothes and Laure’s. “Only these? I s’pose I should also do other errands in the area too.”

“That is all for now,” Odette said in a harried tone as she scooped up Laure, who squirmed and reached for Eponine. “I had thought that Emile would do it, but he seems to have disappeared once again.”

“We’ll go there in a fiacre or cabriolet; it will be faster than waiting for the omnibuses on the route of the Pont des Arts,” Cosette offered.

“You mean the ones on the Pont Neuf or Pont au Change. There are no more omnibuses allowed on the Quai du Louvre,” Eponine pointed out as she carefully put the translated papers into a small cloth bag and then donned a light pair of gloves. She rubbed Laure’s back and kissed the top of her head. “I’ll be back soon, _petite_. I’m sure you can be quiet for a little bit.”

‘ _I’ll definitely have to spend tomorrow at home with Georges,’_ Cosette decided silently as she watched this scene. “It doesn’t always get easier when babies get older. I think they cling more when they are a year old than when they are still nursing,” she told Eponine as they were seated in a cabriolet headed for the Palais du Louvre.

“I s’pose since they notice things and people instead of being asleep much of the day. I can’t wait till Laure is a little bigger so I can bring her around and show her all that I see,” Eponine said. “I think she’d like that very much.”

“More so when she can tell you about it,” Cosette remarked. “Georges can say only a few things, but he knows colors when I point to them.”

“How did you teach him----oh _who_ is that I see there?”  Eponine asked, gesturing to a young couple seated in a cabriolet driving ahead of them. “Stendhal here, of all people!”

 ‘ _And with Justine Lafontaine too,’_ Cosette noted, having recognized the brunette conversing very closely with the translator. “Does his mother know?” she wondered aloud.

“I s’pose not, but it’s not my place to tell,” Eponine said a little mischievously. “I will get the story out of him when I next see him; he has to get back to the Rue des Macons soon enough or Odette will go to the Prefecture to report him as having ‘disappeared’.”

 “I imagine that the Lafontaines do not know either.”

“It’s best to say, they no longer know Justine.”

Before Cosette could ask about this cryptic statement, she felt the cabriolet come to a stop. “That was a swift trip,” she said, seeing now the newly repaired edifice of the Palais du Louvre. “Citizen Santerre doesn’t work in there, precisely, does he?”

“He’s at the Germain L’Auxerrois,” Eponine said as they alighted from the carriage. “There he is, at that shop there.”

Cosette gaped at the sight of the nearby square, which was crowded with vendors as well as passers-by or visitors headed in the general direction of the Tuileres. ‘ _How could she spot it so easily?’_ she wondered as she tried to follow Eponine through this confusion, which was all the more aggravated by the sudden arrival of a gilt-covered carriage. “I’ve seen it before,” she muttered.

“The Lafontaines, and not a moment sooner for one of them,” Eponine said, glancing towards where Justine had just bid Emile Stendhal goodbye and was now picking her way through the crowd in order to reach her family’s conveyance. She bit her lip when she saw the carriage door open, followed by Cerise emerging with a frown on her face. “We mustn’t be seen---“

Cosette nodded but before she could pull her friend out of the way she caught sight of Cerise walking briskly in their direction. There was only one way to save face. “Good afternoon Citizenness Lafontaine,” she greeted.

“Good afternoon to you, Baronne Pontmercy,” Cerise greeted. A contemptuous smile crossed her lips as she surveyed Eponine from head to toe. “It appears you’ve finally found someone to pay your fare.”

“Oh I have for a while; I have wages from Citizenness Stendhal and they do nicely for transportation,” Eponine replied coolly.

Cerise paled for a moment before crossing her arms. “It’s a shame you have to work; it’s a wonder you even get to be seen at all,” she said with a sniff. “A lady in a proper marriage would have no need for it. Were I in your position, I should live according to my proper station instead of forcing my husband to stoop to such a level.”

“I would prefer living with good sense.”  

“A fine way to talk about being a disadvantage to your husband, Citizenness Thenardier.”

Eponine’s eyes flashed at this jibe. “I don’t see any Citizenness Thenardier here; the last one I knew was my mother. If you wish to call on her, then go to Pere Lachaise.”

Cerise’s jaw dropped, more so when she saw how some passers-by had begun to point and whisper among themselves. “How uncouth!” she hissed before sauntering off in the direction of the promenade at the Tuileres.

“She’s one to talk!” Eponine said in a low voice as she clenched her fist. “If we weren’t out here---“

Cosette sighed as she took Eponine’s arm. “What she said wasn’t true. You know that.”

Eponine bit her lip as she glanced towards the park. “Everyone heard. Nothing is going to change it.”


	6. A Lady By Any Other Name

****

_Part 6: A Lady By Any Other Name_

Despite Cosette’s reassurances to the contrary, Eponine could not quite banish Cerise’s taunts from her mind. ‘ _If she was in my position she wouldn’t last a day!’_ she seethed silently as she was back at her desk at the Stendhals’ office, making a simple translation of a news article. She bit her lip as she glanced at her left hand; her fingers could not lie flat on the tabletop, and her palm was covered by a faded but rough scar from the bullet that had nearly taken her life at the Rue de Chanvrerie. Although she had regained some use of her hand over the past two years, she still could not quite clench her fist without considerable pain.  “I’d like to see how Cerise would manage with this,” she muttered.

As she blotted a newly written line, she heard the office door creaking open. She smirked as she threw a glance over her shoulder at her errant colleague. “Wasn’t the Germain d’Auxerrois lovely today, Stendhal?” she asked casually.

“It was crowded.....” Emile Stendhal began before trailing off as a look of horror crossed his pallid face. The translator threw down his coat and pulled up a chair, taking care not to disturb Laure, who was sleeping next to the desk. “What were you doing there?” he asked in a hushed voice.

“Giving some finished work to Citizen Santerre, as your mother asked me to,” Eponine replied.

Emile’s face flushed deeply. “I forgot about that errand.”

“She doesn’t know you’re running off to see Justine Lafontaine.” The young woman sighed as Emile nodded embarrassedly. “For how long?”

“A month,” Emile looked around, evidently afraid of being overheard. “I had to translate something for her brother. She was the one who picked up the manuscript when I brought it to his office.”

Eponine nodded, remembering now that Justine’s brother worked with the diplomatic corps’ headquarters in Paris. “How have you been carrying on since then?”

“We meet on promenades. Exchanging letters would be careless.”

“I s’pose though that neither of you are entirely happy with that alone.”

“What else can I possibly do? She is from one of the most respectable families in Paris, and I am only a translator with no prospects.”

“I can tell you of something that sounded even more impossible.”

 Emile sighed deeply. “She is not engaged to anyone. That is one consolation, and it would still allow me to meet with her brother about this....situation.”

“You should introduce Justine to your mother,” Eponine suggested. “She’d like that very much.”

Emile smiled crookedly. “I wonder if I shall even be entertained by her family since they are all more anxious about her older sister, Cerise. They are trying to dissuade her from a match of her own with Eugene Rossi.”

Eponine rolled her eyes at the mention of this situation involving one of Enjolras’ longtime friends turned fellow legislator and reformer. “It’s not entirely talk; they have met, but I highly doubt he will pursue the matter,” she said.

“It is not Rossi the family is worried about; we all know he does not like trouble,” Emile confided. “It is Citizenness Lafontaine herself.”

“Why, what _is_ the matter?”

“She might be partial to him.”

‘ _What is she playing at then with all her talk with her aunt about a dowry for a high match?’_ Eponine wondered as she refilled her inkwell. “Then I s’pose all the more you ought to make things right and clear where Justine is concerned,” she finally said. “There will be trouble when your secret is revealed.”

“There will be too when they find out.”

“I don’t see the point in wooing someone then if it is meant to be hidden, or if one of you thinks the entire thing is shameful.”

Emile gaped at her but before he could say anything to this Odette entered the room. “There you are!” Odette chided her son. “Where have you been all day?”

“Out walking, Maman,” Emile said, evading both her gaze and Eponine’s.

Odette huffed and crossed her arms. “What did Citizen Santerre think?” she asked Eponine.

“He was rightfully pleased,” Eponine replied as she picked up Laure, who had begun to whimper and fuss as she always did when she was hungry. “I need a dictionary, so I s’pose in the meantime you and Emile can talk here,” she said, giving her colleague a reproving look before quitting the room. ‘ _If Justine is risking being seen, then she is either desperate or she does feel something,’_ she realized as she carried Laure into the back office. She only could hope that Emile’s habitual dearth in fortitude would not be the cause of the undoing of Justine’s affection.

She knew better than to comment on or ask about this matter upon returning a few minutes later with the book she needed and a now thoroughly pacified daughter, though she could guess from Odette’s disgruntled muttering and Emile’s increased blushing what turn their conversation had taken. The rest of the afternoon passed quietly until a quarter of an hour before four, when Eponine brought Laure with her to the school house, where they would meet Gavroche, Neville and Jacques.

Although the afternoon air had grown crisp and chilly, this did not deter the pupils from their usual games and frolic in the schoolyard. As Eponine walked by the fence she saw one of Jacques’ classmates wave to her before shimmying down the tree he had climbed, apparently as part of a game. “Jacques! Your sister is here!” this boy bawled.

“His sister? She’s not his maman?” another boy asked confusedly.

“She’s too young and pretty, Pierre,” a girl pronounced before whistling. “Jacques! Where are you?”

“We’re still playing!” Jacques protested from under an upturned cart.

“It doesn’t matter, your sister is here!” the girl shouted. She grinned at Eponine. “My name is Juliette. I sit two chairs away from him.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Eponine said. She adjusted her grip on Laure, who was squirming to get a better look at Juliette. “Have you seen Neville and Gavroche too?”

Juliette and some of the other children pointed to where Neville was curled up under a tree with a big book. “He’s almost done with it,” Juliette reported.

Eponine laughed as she saw Neville close his book and stand up as fast as his good leg would allow him. ‘ _He really might read every book in France at the rate he is going,’_ she thought as she waved to him and then stood on tiptoe to start searching for Gavroche. At length she spotted her oldest brother as well as Navet and some other boys at a raucous game of _boules._ “Gavroche, it’s time to go home!” she called.

Gavroche looked up from rolling a heavy ball and thumbed his nose at her. “My belly is not ready to turn into a _boule_ just yet!”

“You’ll miss your dinner, that’s what,” Eponine retorted. “I’m sure Neville and Jacques wouldn’t mind splitting your share of bread.”

Gavroche scowled for a moment but he bid goodbye to his comrades and went to where Jacques was just emerging from his hiding place. “Come on your hands are going to get red, _mome_ ,” he said as he flung his long scarf around his neck.

Jacques gave him an indignant look. “I’m not a _mome_ , not anymore!”

“You’re covered in the clothes of one,” Gavroche teased, indicating all the grime that had stuck to Jacques’ hair and hands. He looked up at the now gray sky. “Now there’s a remedy for it!”

“We have to hurry, boys,” Eponine said as she pulled a knitted cap onto Laure’s head such that it covered the tops of her ears. The smell of water in the air prompted her to walk quickly, but it was not very long till she and the boys were already rushing past the Odeon and the promenade at the Luxembourg. ‘ _A good thing I wore my boots instead of slippers!’_ she thought as she caught sight the first raindrops spattering the ground. She heard Laure squeal and giggle, clearly enjoying this little trip. “Oh you wouldn’t think it was so funny if it got any colder, _petite_!” Eponine said as she now wrapped her pelisse around the baby. It was drizzling by the time they crossed the Place Saint-Sulpice, forcing the siblings to sprint down past the corner of the Rue des Cornelles and the Rue Guisarde.

“Ponine, we have a visitor!” Jacques said breathlessly as he pointed to a large carriage stopping outside their home.

Eponine cringed, recognizing Madame Fontenay stepping out of the vehicle. “Madame! I was only just arriving too!” she called as she ran ahead to open the gate.

Madame Fontenay nearly jumped with surprise before she looked Eponine from head to toe. “My goodness, Madame Enjolras! Running about in this horrible weather?”

“I had to meet my brothers at the school house,” Eponine explained as she used one hand to fish in her reticule for her house keys. She nodded to her siblings. “Gavroche, Neville, Jacques, I’d like you to meet Madame de Fontenay. Madame, my brothers Gavroche, Neville, and Jacques Thenardier.”

“So very young indeed,” the widow sniffed even as she motioned for her coachman to take her cloak. “They all live with you?” she asked Eponine.

“I have full charge of them,” Eponine said proudly. “Gavroche, could you please light the lamps in the front room? I’ll have a fire going soon enough, after I get Laure into some dry clothes. Oh, and Neville, please fetch the coffee cups in the kitchen. You may feed the cat a little early too since I suppose our dinner will be somewhat later this evening.”

Jacques tugged on Eponine’s skirt. “What can I do?”

“You, _petit_ , have to take care of Madame de Fontenay for a little bit. Tell her your stories,” Eponine said confidentially. She could feel the widow’s hawkish gaze watching her every move, perhaps already criticizing her for the lack of a servant on the premises. ‘ _If she’d come later in the evening like she said she would, I wouldn’t have this much trouble!’_ she fumed silently as she carried a now fussy Laure upstairs and into her room.

Within a quarter of an hour Eponine managed to get Laure out of her wet clothes and swaddle her in some warm blankets before setting her down to sleep. “I s’pose Madame Fontenay is used to having people sit around all day,” she muttered as she combed out her hair and donned a clean pair of gloves. She then rushed to the kitchen to begin heating water for coffee and to fetch some biscuits, bread, and dried fruit. On her way back to the front room she saw her brothers trooping into the study. “Why, is something the matter?” she asked, seeing the irritated look on Gavroche’s face and the more despondent expressions of Neville and Jacques.

“That lady doesn’t like us,” Jacques said disappointedly. “She told us to shoo and go to our room instead of being noisy.”

“Oh it’s nothing you did; I couldn’t hear a peep from upstairs so I don’t think you were trouble at all,” Eponine said as she let her brothers get some of the food. “She’s only never had little ones of her own.”

“Is she going to stay here for long?” Neville asked.

“Only long enough to talk about some important things,” Eponine said as she showed her brothers into the study. She stood up straight before entering the front room. “I have some citrons,” she informed Madame Fontenay. “Will your coachman want any?”

“He can make shift for himself,” Madame Fontenay said stiffly. She cast an irritated glance in the general direction of the study. “Shouldn’t your brothers already be enrolled at a boarding school?”

“The best boarding schools are here in Paris. It’s not practical to pay twice over for room and board when they can very well live here at home,” Eponine replied as she found a flint to light the woodstove that served as the room’s main source of warmth.

Madame Fontenay’s brow furrowed. “Then you will also bring your daughter up here at home, without a governess perhaps?”

“I intend to give her the same education my brothers have,” Eponine answered.

“I thought this was a gentleman’s household,” Madame Fontenay said with undisguised disdain. “I was under the impression you’d bettered on your own upbringing.”

“Letting my brothers do more than make shift for themselves is already a start.” Eponine went to her favourite seat on the settee, all the while holding Madame Fontenay’s shocked stare. “You said when I called on you that we would discuss the project of lessons. Here we are.”  

The matron put her hands in her lap. “How many pupils have you found?”

“Already four dozen. More may come if this first attempt is a success.”

“How long will these lessons last?”

“Two months at a time, and only three times a week at the very most.”

“Where will they be held?”

“We have a few rooms for lectures, and there are different shops and places where the students may have some actual practice of their trade.”

“This exposes girls to danger by putting them in the same workplaces as masters and male apprentices.”

“Not if the lessons are about sewing, lacemaking, stay-making, cooking, or even keeping the books and accounts in the shop. These are things that women already do for employment,” Eponine explained. “The lessons will be from the ladies who already work, or even the wives of the guild-masters.”

“These girls will then neglect their homes if they are to be sent to work.”

“They won’t have homes to speak of if there are no francs or sous to keep them.”

The older woman pursed her lips. “What about a woman’s other accomplishments? She will become unsuitable for marriage if she will become a drudge through employment.”

 “If all a wife needs to be is an ornament to her husband, then you might be right.” Eponine said tersely. “We both know that most marriages end up with children. A mother needs to make sure her little ones won’t go hungry, and work is one way to go about it.”

“Is your husband aware that you hold such views?”

“Very much so. It makes for excellent conversation.”

“Your reputation as a singular character is well deserved, Madame Enjolras,” Madame Fontenay said after a few moments. “I shall have to give the matter some thought; for a first attempt this is already particularly ambitious.”

‘ _At least she is not saying no outright,’_ Eponine thought. “Our group is having a meeting this Saturday, at Saint-Merry. You could visit and ask about what everyone else has to say about this,” she said.

“That is if I am not engaged elsewhere,” Madame Fontenay replied as she stood up primly. “Thank you for your hospitality, Madame Enjolras. This was a most enlightening discussion.”

“Thank you for taking the time---“ Eponine began but Madame Fontenay had already walked out the front door. The younger woman rolled her eyes as she sat back down on the settee and crossed her arms. “If that’s what being proper is, no wonder I cannot play at it for very long!”


	7. The Art of Scenery

****

_Part 7: The Art of Scenery_

It was no secret that in the kingdom that was the Odeon and its environs, the costumers’ room was Azelma’s particular province. ‘ _To think that Papa used to say he would never allow us girls to take to the theater!’_ she caught herself thinking two mornings later as she was putting the finishing touches on a fine dress for the day’s rehearsal. She took a deep breath, relishing the warm air as well as the odors of perfume, lace, powder, and new cloth. It was an aroma of an odd but unparalleled luxury, one that she took pride in creating even if only for an hour or two on stage.

As she knotted off a hem, she heard one of the older seamstresses walking up to her. “Azelma, there’s a fine lady here to see you,” the crone said in an undertone. “Says her name is Lafontaine?”

Azelma nodded as she carefully arranged the dress onto a mannequin. “I’ll meet her at the theater door, Marie,” she said gratefully. She stepped back and smiled as she got a good look at her handiwork; the gown was eye-catching even from afar, and yet not overly garish when subject to closer inspection. ‘ _If only everyday things could be as nice,’_ she thought as she wiped her hands and smoothed out her own clothes before making her way down a narrow winding stair in the theater’s backrooms, and out towards the door leading to the square.

She stopped in her tracks when she caught sight of none other than Cerise Lafontaine waiting at the steps. The proud beauty in Cerise’s bearing vanished as her face twisted into a contemptuous sneer. “How _dare_ you speak to my sister!” she shouted as she grabbed Azelma’s arm. “Now look what you have done!”

Azelma winced as Cerise’s fingernails dug into her skin. “Justine was the one who came looking for me. I wasn’t about to be rude!”

“Rude?” Cerise spat. “Then tell me why Emile Stendhal is suddenly calling on and _courting_ my sister? Only you would put such a foolish idea in their heads!”

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” Azelma snapped as she shoved Cerise, forcing the other girl to let go. “You can’t just come around to where people work and accuse them of things.”

Cerise’s fair face went livid. “Do you think I’m stupid?”

“I think you’re being awful and I’ve told you so before,” Azelma answered. ‘ _What is it with her and these scenes?’_ she wondered, remembering now the last time she had confronted Cerise at a salon at the Abbaye Aux-Bois. “I shan’t talk with you if you are going to be that way,” she added, turning on her heel to leave before Cerise could grab her again. She managed to shut the theater door even as she heard Cerise’s shrieking about having been ‘outraged’ and ‘insulted’. “You’re one to talk!” Azelma hissed at the closed door.

A moment later, footsteps sounded on the stairs, prompting Azelma to turn around and nearly back herself up against the door in fright. She breathed a sigh of relief when she caught sight of Jehan. “Azelma? What’s happening?” the poet asked as he made his way down the steps.

‘Some row with Cerise, Justine and now our friend Stendhal,” Azelma replied.

Jehan’s jaw dropped. “Stendhal? What does he have to do with it?”

“I have to find out before someone says the wrong thing,” Azelma said. She hugged Jehan tightly. “Get me my hat, please?”

Jehan nodded before rushing off to fetch the hat as well as Azelma’s shawl. “So Stendhal and Justine? That is quite a story,” he mused as he helped his wife wrap up against the weather.

“How do you know it’s them?”

“What else could it be?”

“Now then, I hope it ends happily,” Azelma said before kissing Jehan and then running out of the theater. ‘ _It makes an odd sort of sense,’_ she realized as she ran down to the neighbourhood of the Place Saint-Michel, and on to the Place de Sorbonne and the Rue des Macons. She could not imagine the details of her friends meeting, but she could understand how Justine’s inquisitive nature would be intrigued by Emile’s sensitivity and would also draw him out to speak more. ‘ _It’s something he needs since he’s always trod on all the time at work,’_ she told herself as she marched up to the Stendhals’ house and knocked four times.

Not surprisingly, it was Eponine who opened the door. “Zelma? What are you doing here?” she asked her sister confusedly.

“I need to talk to Stendhal, or his mother,” Azelma replied.

“They’re out. Can you wait a bit?”

“No, Ponine. There’s been a terrible confusion, and somehow Cerise Lafontaine is involved----“

Eponine’s eyes widened. “Tell me,” she urged as she let her sister into the house.

“Stendhal is courting Justine. No wonder she’s been here,” Azelma said. She frowned when she saw that Eponine was silent. “You know!”

“I got it out of Stendhal yesterday. I caught him with Justine when he was supposed to be at an errand,” Eponine said. “And you?”

“Because of Cerise, that horrible woman!” Azelma said, shuddering. “Apparently he’s been to call at the Lafontaines, and of course Cerise isn’t happy about it.”

“Do you think she’d ever be, if it’s not her?”

“Oh Ponine! Cerise seems to think it was _my_ idea!”

Eponine swallowed hard. “I s’pose it might have been my idea, really. I had a word or two to say to Stendhal about what he was doing.”

Azelma felt as if something had dropped in her stomach on hearing her sister’s words. “Did you tell him that he had to call on the Lafontaines?”

“I told him to make matters right,” Eponine said. “And to introduce Odette to Justine, but that’s a very different thing.”

“Ponine, you _know_ that’s not going to work!” Azelma groaned. “He’d have to do the gentleman’s thing and then introduce himself, and then he’d never be allowed to see Justine again!”

“It’s better than hiding and lying all the time, and that sort of problem only adds more to the ruckus,” Eponine retorted.

Azelma shook her head. “They can’t go about things the way Jehan and I do, or the way that you and Antoine do. It’s too much trouble.”

“It’s not too much trouble if they really mean it,” Eponine muttered.

‘ _She’s never going to quite give up on that sort of romance,’_ Azelma realized. “It’s going to be trouble for you, if Cerise tells things to her aunt,” she finally said.

Eponine sighed. “It already is. She came to call two nights ago. It did go somewhat well, but I know she’s been hearing a thing or two from Cerise.”

Azelma shuddered, not wanting to imagine how this conversation transpired. “So what will you do?”

“Hope she goes to this meeting we have tomorrow,” Eponine said. “If not, then I s’pose I’m better off talking to someone else.”

“What about Justine and Stendhal?”

“We very well can’t help them sneak about. At least we can help them talk to someone, to help clear this mess up.”

‘ _To who?’_ Azelma wondered silently. There would surely be plenty of commentary especially in the aftermath of Cerise’s most recent outburst. “If Cerise can create a scene, so can we,” she mused aloud. “That way, there will be no more secrets.”

Eponine looked at her sister curiously. “It will cause trouble, as you said.”

“It would force Stendhal to do the honourable thing,” Azelma supplied. She saw Eponine’s eyes darken at these words. “Ponine?”

“It would. It certainly would,” Eponine said. “Just being seen and acknowledged will do.”

Azelma looked at her sister quizzically and shrugged, knowing better than to ask too much about this. “You could use that too, to be able to deal with Madame de Fontenay.”

“The only scene I want to see there is her approving of things at the meeting,” Eponine said with a wry smile. She bit her lip as she glanced towards the window. “Here are Justine and Emile now.”

Azelma nearly jumped at the sight of Emile trying to console a red-eyed and weeping Justine. “What happened?” she asked as she tried to lead Justine to a chair.

“I can’t go home!” Justine sobbed. “I don’t know what Cerise told Maman, but she is furious! She won’t let me in her sight _ever_ again.”

“Your mother threw you out?” Eponine asked incredulously.

Justine continued to sob while Emile only nodded. “Out the door, just like that,” he said at length.

Azelma had to take a few deep breaths at this revelation. ‘ _How could anyone ever do that to her child?’_ she wondered silently. Yet hadn’t her own mother done the same to Gavroche, Neville, and Jacques? “Did she say why?”

“That I was in disgrace,” Justine said flatly.

“That’s awful. If I’d known....”

“You know she never wanted me anyway.”

Emile put an arm around Justine’s shoulders.  “That’s why she’ll stay here with me.”

“Emile, no. _Your_ mother wouldn’t like that, not yet,” Eponine pointed out. “Justine, there’s room at my home if you like. Just for a few days.”

Justine sniffled. “What will my sister say to that?”

“Whatever she likes, unfortunately,” Eponine said. She bit her lip as she regarded Azelma, Emile, and Justine pensively. “There has to be someone who can keep Cerise in check before she says something she can’t quite take back.”

“There is someone. I mentioned him to you yesterday,” Emile said.

“Rossi? Is that the wisest idea?” Eponine asked.

“I cannot think of anyone else who would,” Emile replied. “It is that, or it has to be your husband since she’d heed _him_.”

Eponine rolled her eyes. “For a totally different reason, I’m afraid.” She tapped Emile’s arm. “Now I’ve done one of your errands, you ought to do one for me so I can set this straight.”

“Where are you going?” Emile asked cautiously.

Eponine fished in her pelisse for her pocketbook and opened it to a page. “There’s a meeting at the Cafe du Foy later.”

Azelma groaned, recognizing the name of this haunt of the journalists in Paris. “Ponine, you’re not going to take it that far! This doesn’t have to be in the papers.”

“It won’t be. I do know that Rossi goes there now and then, for some reason or another,” Eponine replied a little more mischievously as she closed her notebook. “Cerise will surely at least _hear_ of talking, and that should give her a thing or two to guess about.”


	8. Of Duels Loud and Silent

****

_Chapter 8: Of Duels Loud and Silent_

Eponine knew better than to believe that she could ever enter the Cafe du Foy without attracting some attention. ‘ _If it’s a lady they are waiting for, it’s a lady they’ll get,’_ she decided as she alighted from an omnibus, taking care not to scuff her boots or snag the hem of her maroon dress.  “Think you can be a little quiet for a bit, _petite_?” she whispered to Laure, who was squirming in her arms in order to get a better look at their surroundings. The neighbourhood of the Palais Royal was unusually busy even for an early evening; in fact it appeared as if the promenade was still full and the cafes had been forced to set up tables all along the walkways. “It’s like summer visited November,” Eponine mused aloud before venturing into the crowded park.

The air was cool but heady, filled with the enticing scents of cooked food from various cafes. Here, the hubbub of conversation blended seamlessly with snatches of drinking songs and lively polkas and reels, now and then mingled with the more dulcet tones of a waltz. It seemed as if at every turn Eponine would meet a familiar face, and so a number of times she had to take a few moments to chat with various acquaintances, especially the members of _Les Femmes Pour Egalite et Fraternite._

As she got past a crowded thoroughfare, she heard someone whistle. “Eponine, you just missed a scene!” Simone called, waving for her to come nearer. “There’s been a duel among the diplomats!”

“What, they’ve forgotten how to talk properly about things?” Eponine quipped.

“They’re doing that over there, talking all about the navy and what ports they should be allowed to,” Simone scoffed, pointing to a group of men standing near one of the fountains fronting the Cafe du Foy.  “Anyway one of the young consuls from the Prussian embassy challenged another from the Swedish embassy, and all over courting Cerise Lafontaine, of all people!”

Eponine rolled her eyes at the mention of this name. “Do you mean actual courting or just talk of it?”

“It’s all the same to them,” Simone said with a shrug as she went over to get a better look at Laure, who returned her scrutiny with a quizzical stare of her own. Simone laughed before patting Laure’s hair. “Anyway there was a challenge, and poor Jerome---I mean Bamatabois was asked to be a second,” she said more seriously to Eponine.

Eponine cringed at the mention of her friend’s lover. “Did he agree to it?”

“No, but he did tell the Swedish consul that he wanted nothing to do with it, and in the middle of everything someone drew a pistol...” Simone shuddered as she toyed with her puce hair ribbon. “It’s a good thing that the Prussian fired wide and that Citizen Feuilly knew where to find a doctor for the injured Swede.”

“We might read it differently in the papers tomorrow,” Eponine remarked. She noticed now that the group near the fountain had grown larger, now including Enjolras and some of his fellow deputies. ‘ _Looks like Antoine has taken the meeting out of the Hotel de Ville,’_ she thought even as she took a few steps towards this group.

“It is a good thing that you have furnished the consulate with more documents for the debates about the ports of call,” one of the envoys said to Enjolras. “The translations of the English logs were particularly impressive. You have our thanks.”

“It is not me you should be thanking, but my spouse,” Enjolras pointed out. “Eponine personally acquired the papers and translated them.”

“Her participation in civic affairs is most astounding,” an envoy said approvingly. “A most extraordinary choice of a wife.”

A smile crossed Enjolras’ face. “To be more to the point, I consider it an honor to be at her side.”  

Eponine stopped in her tracks on hearing this declaration.  It was clear from the approving yet knowing looks of many of the group that this was not the first time that Enjolras had said something to this effect. ‘ _Does he really speak of me so every day?’_ she wondered even as she could feel a pleasant warmth blossoming in her chest and rising to her face. All the same she had to content herself with burying her face in Laure’s blanket if only to keep from letting out a shout of delight.

Laure, who’d been startled by this sudden gesture, giggled and squealed as she began to tug on Eponine’s hat. “Oh don’t do that, _petite!”_ Eponine laughed as she tried to uncurl Laure’s stubborn fingers. It was only then that she realized that Enjolras had already noticed them and was now looking their way. “Have I surprised you well enough?” she greeted amiably.  

“I wouldn’t say surprised is the word for it,” Enjolras said warmly as he went to meet her and Laure on the walkway. He ruffled Laure’s hair, eliciting another delighted squeak from her. “Have you been good to your _maman_ today, _petite?”_ he asked as he chucked her chin.

Eponine laughed when Laure simply cooed back at her father. “What do you think? I never thought a little one could be so chatty in her own way.”

Enjolras smirked at her. “Why are _you_ so surprised?” He paused to take a look around. “Are the boys also with you?”

“No, they’re at home. Justine Lafontaine is now our guest, but for a longer bit of time,” Eponine replied. “I’d best explain later since it’s a matter among friends,” she added in an undertone.

 “I see,” Enjolras clasped her shoulder. “Your translations have been very useful, by the way.”

“So I just heard,” Eponine remarked as she squeezed his hand discreetly before handing Laure to him.

“Do you not find this activity taxing, Citizenness?” an older deputy asked. “A lady in your situation would usually be content with good works or being charitable at home.”

“It’s not _my_ situation, and there’s only so much charity can do,” Eponine replied.

“You still have an infant to care for.” 

“I don’t s’pose it should be considered as something dreadful. I shouldn’t like to show a child that a woman ought to be idle once she is at home.”

Enjolras cleared his throat as he adjusted his grip on Laure, who had quieted down and was now gazing at a colored glass lamp some paces away. “We were just discussing the naval allocations, and of course the part that the documentations of the ports of call mentioned in the logs. There were a few, but nonetheless significant differences between naval ports of call, and those used by the merchants both from France and England,” he said, directing his words to Eponine.

“That was in wartime. Nowadays, some ports like Marseilles and Calais are both fortifications and trading posts. Someone will need to explain the rules to our sailors, and those from England, Spain, Prussia, and everywhere else.”

“That is the next question,” a third deputy chimed in. “Perhaps, Citizenness, you could assist us again with this?”

“If you give me the papers, I could,” she replied.

 “Rossi has already requested for some annals at the Ecole Polytechnique,” Enjolras informed her. 

“Is he also here this evening?” Eponine asked. “It’s for our guest’s sake.”

“He is still at the Cafe du Foy,” Enjolras said. “I’ll also be there shortly.”

Eponine nodded before discreetly straightening out one of his cuffs and then carefully rearranging Laure’s blanket. “I’ll see you both then.” As she walked to the cafe she sneaked a glance or two back towards where Enjolras was still talking to his colleagues, but all the while keeping a protective hold on little Laure. There were few things more startling or endearing for her than seeing him, who was normally so fierce, become more relaxed and gentle around their child. ‘ _Just you wait till I give you a son someday,’_ she thought as she hurried to the cafe.

The Cafe du Foy was as crowded as ever and it took some time till Eponine located Eugene Rossi in one of the cafe’s side alcoves. “Good evening Rossi. I must trouble you for some assistance,” she said. She nearly started on seeing Rossi’s visage; his normally pallid appearance had now taken on a ghastly whiteness. “Are you well?”

“It has been a long day, and my appointments have been delayed,” Rossi replied, motioning for her to sit. “How may I help you?”

Eponine took a deep breath. “I need you to talk to a lady, Cerise Lafontaine.” She paused to see if Rossi’s expression would change but the man only shrugged. “She did something, or rather said something about her sister Justine, and it’s gotten Justine thrown out of their home.”

Rossi snorted. “So you’ve crossed Cerise already with the question about Citizenness Fontenay, and now you’re interfering in this?”

“Justine is staying with me and my family,” Eponine said. “I need your help because you know Cerise.”

“There is no knowing her, except what she wants,” Rossi replied as he rubbed the side of the glass of brandy near his elbow.

Eponine bit her lip as she watched him take a drink. “Did you feel anything at all for Cerise?”

Rossi was silent for some long moments. “She charmed me, until it became clear that I could not give her what she wanted.”

“She has family, money, every connection she needs, even beauty---and all of that just given to her,” Eponine pointed out.

“A girl like her was raised to play a part and to have certain expectations. You are living out the part she believes she is suited for.”

“What part is that?”

“To be noticed and sought out,” Rossi said. “She grew up among people of big names; that’s part of why her parents sent her to a convent for her education. That was before the revolution shifted so many things, including influences.”

Eponine rolled her eyes. “She could still do much without being so poisonous. Cosette does so many things and speaks to so many people, but no one has a horrible thing to say about her.”

“Cosette is loved. Cerise wants to be known,” Rossi said. “If you ask me she’s one of the loneliest women in Paris. Not a single friend she can really call her own.”

‘ _She had you,’_ Eponine almost said but she bit her lip. “What can I do for Justine? Who should I talk to?”

“You have that person in hand---their aunt!” Rossi exclaimed. “Their mother will heed her.”

“I s’pose,” Eponine said. ‘ _She’s the only other connection you know after all,’_ she reminded herself. “Is she fond of Justine?”

“She’ll be appalled at the idea of her niece so far away from the so-called bosom of home,” Rossi remarked ruefully with a wave of his hand. “It’s more than the fortune, it’s the name. The Lafontaine girls may marry well, but without her old connections, they will be adrift.”

“Is it that terrible?”

“It is, and a good reason to refrain from that side of Paris, at least when doing politics.”

Eponine sighed before catching sight of Enjolras, who was quickly walking up with Laure. “Now what’s new with you?” she asked as she clasped his arm.

“A few answered questions....and a fussy little one,” Enjolras replied as he placed Laure in her lap. He raised an eyebrow on catching sight of Rossi. “You need some rest, my friend.”

“By and by,” Rossi said before finishing off his brandy. “You need to take good care of Justine, that is if Emile Stendhal isn’t doing it well enough.”

Eponine smiled knowingly. “That is another thing I have to explain,” she said to Enjolras. She sighed and she cuddled Laure as the baby began to whimper. “We’ll go on home now, _petite,_ don’t fret so much,” she whispered. 

Enjolras nodded to Rossi. “We’ll resume discussion at the Hotel de Ville. It is more appropriate there. Will you need any assistance?’

Rossi shook his head. “I’ll be fine. I’d best not ruin your evening,” he said with another wave of his hand before he got to his feet and headed out of the cafe.

“The Lafontaines have been mentioned quite often this evening,” Enjolras deadpanned as soon as Rossi was out of earshot.

“Simone told me about a duel,” Eponine said as they also made their way out of the cafe.

“All based on a lot of useless gossip,” Enjolras replied, his tone one of barely concealed irritation. “Now even Stendhal is involved?”

“More than involved; he and Justine ought to be wed!” Eponine quipped cheekily.

His eyes widened with surprise. “Now this complicates matters greatly.”

“I s’pose sooner or later the Lafontaines will realize that telling Justine to leave was a big mistake,” she said. “There will be talk and it will be around by morning.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow as they crossed the street to wait for an omnibus. “It would be unwise to further any rumors especially before your meeting tomorrow.”

“It’s possible that now thanks to all this ruckus I won’t even have to answer all that chatter!” Eponine said impishly. “If there’s one person I need to talk to, it’s Citizenness Fontenay and now I know precisely what else I could say.”


	9. On the Role of Providence

****

_Chapter 9: On the Role of Providence_

“Georges, where have you gone---oh wait, not there! Come now, that’s no place to hide!”

This, along with the mischievous laugh of a toddler, cut all too easily through Cosette’s slumber. “Marius? What are you and Georges doing?” she asked as she sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes.

A startled “Oof!” followed by a thud came from the general direction of her small vanity table. “Cosette? I was trying to keep him from getting in here and waking you up too early,” Marius replied sheepishly from his awkward position on all fours.

“He’s an early riser, just like you,” Cosette pointed out as she got out of bed and crouched next to her husband. She quickly caught sight of the little boy who’d scooted under the vanity table, apparently set on investigating a bottle of perfume that had rolled into the dark. “Georges! Maman and Papa are looking for you!” she called, holding out her arms. She was rewarded by Georges’ grinning widely at her before he scooted into her embrace. “Now don’t you like that much better?”

Marius rubbed the top of his head as he got to his feet. “I’ll bring him back downstairs,” he offered. “That way he won’t disturb you.”

“He’s no disturbance at all, Marius. I’d rather you wait here for me,” Cosette said. ‘ _Here I have you both to myself, downstairs we are needed by everyone else,’_ she thought. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy being around the rest of the family, but the truth was that there were few opportunities in the day for both her and Marius to spend time exclusively with Georges. As she dressed and made her toilette, she often paused to watch Marius and Georges playing on the floor, thankfully keeping away this time from the vanity table. The resemblance between father and son was unmistakeable; in fact Cosette couldn’t help but smile when she saw them finally sit on the bed and look out the window with the same pensive expression. She finished smoothing back her hair and then sat next to them. “There’s a robin’s nest,” she said, pointing to a branch near the window. “I’m glad it’s safe up there, instead of on the wall where the cat can get it too easily like that other bird once.” 

“I remember you were so upset last year about it,” Marius said. “You cried.”

Cosette sighed wryly at this memory as she began smoothing down Georges’ clothes and retying the laces on his tiny boots. “Now I doubt I shall cry again, isn’t that right, my boy?” she crooned.

Georges grinned gleefully at her before turning at the sound of a carriage approaching the house. “Ca-ige!” he blurted out, pointing to the window.

“It’s ‘carriage’, Georges,” Marius said as he stood up. “Now who could that be? Most likely it is one of my aunt’s friends.”

‘ _They will probably hear Mass together,’_ Cosette thought as she helped Georges climb off the bed. She and Marius held both his hands as they slowly made their way down the stairs towards the front hall, where Nicolette was just opening the door. “Who is it?” she asked.

Nicolette gave Cosette a nervous look. “It’s _Madame de_ Fontenay, here to see Citizenness Gillenormand,” she said in a hushed voice.

“I will also speak with the Baronne Pontmercy,” Madame Fontenay announced as she stepped in.

Cosette had to keep a reassuring hand on Georges even as he dashed to hide behind her skirts. ‘ _He’s never really seen anyone in mourning,’_ she realized as she took stock of the widow’s entirely sable apparel, which included a particularly large plumed hat. “Certainly,” she said, showing their guest into the sitting room. She nodded to Marius, who then quickly scooped up Georges. “Is your aunt finished with her prayers yet?”

Marius checked his watch. “At this hour, she’s more likely to be doing needlework. I’ll fetch her, and Father and Grandfather as well.”

Cosette smiled gratefully as Marius and Georges hurried down the hall; as verbose as she was, she knew she would be hard pressed as far as entertaining this visitor was concerned. She waited for Madame Fontenay to settle herself in the best seat in the room before speaking. “Madame, have you been well?”

“Why should I be otherwise?” Madame Fontenay replied stiffly. She looked Cosette over slowly. “I heard you received your education in the convent of the Perpetual Adoration.”

“I was enrolled there when I was eight, and I left when I was fifteen,” Cosette replied.

Madame Fontenay nodded. “What then is your maiden name?”

“Fauchelevent.”

“I have never heard of it.”

Cosette simply smiled at these words. Of course Madame Fontenay would not have paid much heed to the daughter of the convent’s gardener. “Aunt Gillenormand will be down here shortly. Can I get you anything to eat or drink in the meantime?”

“I will be perfectly fine, Baronne Pontmercy. I have come here on an inquiry,” Madame Fontenay said more sternly as she sat up ramrod straight. “You are acquainted with my niece, Justine Lafontaine. Has she sent you any word?”

This question nearly brought Cosette up short. “I have not heard from her recently, Madame,” she managed to say. ‘ _Though hearing of her is another thing,’_ she decided.

“Have you seen her at any gathering?”

“No, Madame.”

The widow pursed her lips, but whether this was out of disapproval or worry it was difficult to guess. “You are an intimate friend of Madame Enjolras?” she asked at length.

“Yes. I have known her since we were little girls,” Cosette said.

“I see, otherwise it would be peculiar that you, a Baronne, would keep company with her and the rest of her rather forward coterie,” Madame Fontenay remarked. “Their efforts at putting up workshops for girls are considerably ambitious.”

Cosette willed herself to keep a straight face, even if it the nature of Madame Fontenay’s inquiry was now clearer to her. “My friends see many things that I can only hope to understand. I admire them for not only bettering themselves and their families, but for helping those who are far more in need.”

“I understand they want to be charitable, but it is not charitable to foment ambition and inspire discontent with one’s lot. One must trust in God’s Providence against the sufferings of this world.”

“What if such work is part of Providence, and an answer to the prayers of some people who may have nothing to eat this winter?”

Madame Fontenay was silent for a few moments. “This, you did not learn from the Bernardines.” 

“I learned from my father.” Cosette said.

“Who then, taught him?”

“He said he learned from my mother.”

Madame Fontenay nodded. “Your mother must have been the most extraordinary woman, Madame Baronne.” She stood up at the sound of the drawing room door creaking open. “I am afraid I will not be able to stay for the afternoon, as usual,” she said to Mademoiselle Gillenormand. “I have an invitation that I must attend to.”

‘ _The meeting with the societe!”_ Cosette realized even as she took the opportunity to excuse herself in order to leave the older ladies to their conversation. She followed the sound of laughter to the sitting room adjoining the back garden. Here, she found Jean Valjean and Marius both seated on the floor, showing Georges how to build a tower out of colored wooden blocks. “Will you allow me to join in?” she asked sweetly as she stepped in.

“Cosette!” Marius exclaimed, turning red to the roots of his hair for a moment before he got up and took her hand to guide her to where their son was playing. “He’s clever. He stacked the blocks using the colors we pointed to.”

“Of course he is clever---I am his mother!” Cosette laughed. “Papa, how did you teach me to read?” she asked Jean Valjean eagerly.

“Letter by letter. You were quite a bit older though, Cosette,” Jean Valjean said.

“I only met you then. I know if you’d found me at the inn earlier, I would have studied quickly too,” Cosette said. It only struck her at that moment how singular Jean Valjean’s views were, and how necessary in this day and age. ‘ _None of us would be here if he did not think so differently,’_ she realized even as she gave her father a brief hug. “I’d love to stay with you gentlemen all day but I must go with the other ladies shortly,” she said.

“Eponine will be discussing her project of lessons again, won’t she?” Marius asked.

“Yes, and among other things,” Cosette replied before giving him a kiss. ‘ _I must find Stendhal if something is afoot with Justine Lafontaine,’_ she decided as she hurried to get dressed. Judging from Madame Fontenay’s queries, it seemed as if the younger Lafontaine girl had somehow slipped beyond her family’s notice, or at least that of her aunt. It only stood to reason that Emile Stendhal would have some part, or even be the cause, of such a turn of events.

Much to Cosette’s surprise, the only person around at the house at the Rue des Macons was Odette Stendhal. “Emile is visiting some clients at the Sorbonne, while Eponine is on some errands. You ought to find Eponine at the meeting later at Saint-Merry,” the matron said.

“Is Justine Lafontaine here? Her aunt has been seeking her out.”

“She’s staying with Eponine.  My goodness, Citizenness Pontmercy, they aren’t talking about that poor girl in drawing rooms already?”

Cosette stared at Odette for a moment. “I do not quite understand.”

“Someone has put her in disgrace with her family, and now she’s lodging with Eponine,” Odette said in an undertone. “Emile will soon make that situation respectable in the best way possible. We’re a respectable enough family even for diplomats such as the Lafontaines. No more of those old rules before the revolution.”

“I wish the best for them then,” Cosette said. ‘ _At least he won’t have to get himself nearly killed on a barricade to get his family’s blessing,’_ she thought as she headed now for the neighbourhood of Saint-Merry. By now the market district was already abuzz with its usual clientele, such that even after alighting from a fiacre and walking quickly, it was already half past two by the time Cosette was in the vicinity of the large house that was the ladies’ usual place in Saint-Merry.

As she neared the gate she caught sight of a carriage also approaching the house. “God help us,” she whispered as she hastened to reach the front door. “Cosette! Has something terrible happened?” Musichetta asked concernedly when she met her friend at the door.

“It isn’t terrible, but momentous,” Cosette replied, glancing towards where Madame Fontenay was now knocking on the door of the house.  


	10. The Key to Open Many Doors

****

_Chapter 10: The Key to Open Many Doors_

Despite having been up most of the night at the Odeon, Azelma made it a point to also rise early on the day of the ladies’ meeting at Saint-Merry. “I ought to stay with Justine. Ponine will try her best to help Justine out, but she’ll be so busy with other things so I’ll have to do for company,” she explained to Jehan as she was searching through her cabinet for a dress.

“Doesn’t she also have other friends who will be attending as well?” Jehan asked as he retrieved a corded petticoat and a pair of stays.

Azelma shook her head. “She knows Chetta, Claudine, Leonor and some of the others, but the only one she could probably sit with later is Cosette,” she explained. She paused to put on her stays and stood up straight so that Jehan could help lace her up properly. “Her family was always too choosy about who she and her sister could speak to.”

Jehan winced with sympathy. “No wonder she is rather timid. Won’t she find staying with your siblings a somewhat overwhelming?’

“I wouldn’t say she’s so timid anymore,” Azelma laughed as she tied on her petticoat and then donned her favourite lavender dress. She grinned as she got a look at her reflection; the wide neckline was very much in keeping with fashion, but the lace flounces on the hem were in line with her taste.  “If this happened last year, she would have run home and begged her mother to take her back by now,” she added as she began braiding her long raven hair.

“I would feel more comforted if we heard that her family was searching for her,” Jehan said as he slipped his arms around her and pulled her back against his chest.

Azelma frowned as she tied a mauve ribbon around the end of her braid. “It would cause trouble,” she said as she snuggled into his embrace. 

“It would mean something to her,” Jehan said. He rested his chin on Azelma’s head. “She’d know that they haven’t forgotten her.”

‘ _She’s always feared that most,’_ Azelma mused even as she heard the distant chiming of the bells at Saint-Sulpice. She turned about to plant a kiss on Jehan’s lips. “Now I must go, I’m sorry.”

Jehan sighed as he reluctantly let go of her but he reached out after a moment to wipe something off her cheek. “You’re beautiful, Azelma,” he whispered.

Azelma giggled before tossing his hat to him. “Will you at least walk me to the door?” 

Jehan nodded as he donned his hat and offered his arm to her. They only parted ways once they were at the corner of the Rue de Conde; Jehan headed off to the Odeon while Azelma made her way to the neighbourhood of Saint-Sulpice.

When Azelma arrived at 9 Rue Guisarde, she found Justine making a quick sketch of the front room. It appeared as if she had slept well, judging by the rosiness of her cheeks. “Hello Justine. Where’s my sister?” Azelma greeted.     

Justine smiled as she looked up from her work. “Upstairs, still getting dressed.  She let me get ready first, after everyone else left following breakfast,” she said. She gestured to her light blue dress, which was trimmed with thin ribbons on the hems and a thicker one around her waist. Her dark hair was pulled back in a simple knot. “Don’t you think it’s nice? Eponine and I stopped by the Rue Ferou, and your friend there Citizenness Joly said she had this lying about---some order that never quite came through, but she altered it to fit.”

“I have never seen you in that color before,” Azelma observed. “You always wore white.”

Justine shrugged. “Maman thinks it’s proper.” She turned at the sound of footsteps on the stairway. “Oh Eponine! You look perfect!”

“Thank you. I’m glad this dress still fits,” Eponine said. Instead of her usual simple attire she had chosen a red dress adorned only by a tricolor rosette pinned to her décolletage. Although her clothes were quite less voluminous than what fashion dictated, the lines suited her willowy frame. Her wavy reddish hair was pinned back from her face but still fell around her shoulders becomingly. Laure was in her arms, clad warmly in a long pale pink dress and maroon cape, with a matching knitted cap. “You’re lovely too, Zelma,” Eponine added.

Azelma smiled at the compliment. “Red again? No wonder they call you a rose.”

“I like the color,” Eponine explained. “As for being called a rose, I s’pose that’s really just a fancy of the journalists when they’re drunk. You know I’m more of a thorn.”

“Is it true that you wore _red_ at your wedding?” Justine blurted out.

Eponine chuckled mischievously. “I most certainly did, and so did Antoine.” She kissed Laure’s cheek when she heard the baby also laughing along. “I’m sure you’ll have just as fine a wedding someday, _petite_ \--when you fall in love with someone as brilliant as you!”

‘ _If only Maman could see us now,’_ Azelma caught herself thinking as they left the house. She could still remember their mother prattling on in this way, albeit a little differently in substance owing to Mme. Thenardier’s wishing for her daughters to ‘marry well and wealthy’. Certainly poets or legislators were not what she had in mind for her girls.

As they were waiting for a fiacre, Justine squeezed Azelma’s arm. “I loved sitting up with everyone last night, after dinner. It must have been so much fun to grow up with so many siblings.”

Azelma shook her head. “For a long while it was just me and Ponine. The boys had it a little differently.”

Justine was silent for a few moments. “How did you two make it all come right after everything that happened last year?” she asked.

“Ponine always made it clear that in spite of the mess she still wanted to talk to me,” Azelma said softly. “She’s always going to be my sister.”

Justine swallowed hard. “Do you think it could happen too with me and Cerise?”

“To be honest, it’s not going to happen till she stops thinking she ought to be given everything she wants, even if someone else has to pay for it,” Azelma said bluntly.

“Maybe if Maman....” Justine trailed off before looking down, clearly not wishing to elaborate any further. “Maman can’t cut me off forever. Papa wouldn’t have wanted it.”

‘ _I hope you’re right,’_ Azelma thought as they finally boarded a fiacre that could take them in the general direction of Saint-Merry. They arrived at the meeting place at almost the same time as the other members of the group; in fact the other ladies were just getting out seats for everyone else.

Allyce Legendre met them at the door and cast a scornful look at Justine, who paled at this scrutiny. “What are you doing here?” Allyce demanded.

“She is my guest,” Eponine cut in.

“This is an important meeting, not a drawing room,” Allyce said stiffly as she crossed her arms, which were still red up to the elbow.

“Yes, and that’s exactly why she’s here, to know what we’re about,” Eponine reasoned, pausing to keep Laure from grabbing at the edge of a nearby drape. “You can’t stop people from being interested.”

‘ _They’ll end up arguing it out,’_   Azelma realized, now taking the opportunity to draw Justine away from the fray. “Citizenness Legendre is more used to dealing with her neighbours,” she reassured her friend.

“She frightens me,” Justine admitted.

“She frightens a lot of people, but that doesn’t stop the rest of us,” Azelma said, glancing to where Musichetta, Claudine, and Leonor were talking with some other ladies. She waved to them, and managed to catch Musichetta’s attention first. “May we join you?”

“You didn’t have to ask,” Musichetta said as she went to meet them. She grinned at Justine. “Shall I say congratulations already?”

“What for?” Justine blurted out.

“You and Stendhal of course. He will certainly make you happy,” Musichetta whispered.

Justine’s jaw dropped. “Does everyone know of it already?”

“People can see and then make a guess,” Musichetta confided. She looked around and bit her lip. “Cosette is _running_ to this house. There’s something afoot,” she explained before squeezing Azelma’s arm and hurrying to the door to meet their friend.

Azelma felt a frisson of nervousness at this bit of information; usually it took nothing short of a melee or earthquake to upset Cosette. Before she could say anything about this to Justine she saw the front door open, admitting none other than Madame Fontenay. She had to grab Justine’s wrist before the girl could flee. “She’s here to meet my sister,” she said quickly.

“She might see me here, and what’s going to happen?” Justine whispered frantically.

Yet it was at that moment that Eponine quickly excused herself from her discussion with another friend, and stepped towards Madame Fontenay. She nodded courteously to the matron. “Good day Madame. There’s also someone with me who I know you need to speak to first.”

Madame Fontenay’s eyes narrowed. “About another project?”

Eponine just managed to keep a straight face though there was no hiding the bemused mirth in her eyes. “I wouldn’t say that your niece is a project.”

The older woman’s jaw dropped. “Where has she been staying all this while?” she demanded.

“She’s been staying with me,” Eponine said reassuringly. She looked to Justine. “Justine, I s’pose you and your aunt should talk.”

For a moment Azelma thought that Justine would faint, but Justine took a deep breath and came forward. “Hello Aunt. I’m sorry for causing so much trouble,” she said to Madame Fontenay.

Madame Fontenay s expression softened as she extended her hands to Justine. “Come here, child,” she said. Had anyone not known better, it might have seemed that she was seeing her niece for the first time. “Why don’t you tell me what’s really happened to you?”

Justine nodded. “You won’t tell Maman and Cerise?”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Madame Fontenay said as she gracefully seated herself in one of the room’s two only unoccupied chairs.

Allyce looked pointedly at Eponine. “Now she will no longer wish to discuss our work,” she seethed.

“That doesn’t mean we can’t talk about it among ourselves in the meantime,” Eponine retorted. “Now shall we start this meeting?”

Allyce huffed before making her way to her favourite place at the front of the room, which prompted the rest of the group to also settle down and find their seats.  Claudine opened up a large notebook and read out the minutes of their previous meeting. Then she nodded to Eponine.  “Your turn.”

Eponine handed Laure over to Cosette and stood up. “Good afternoon everyone.  I know you want to hear about how we’ve been preparing for the lessons---“

“Madame Enjolras, a word first,” Madame Fontenay said as she also got to her feet. “After everything I have been hearing about your efforts, I am all the more convinced that they are ambitious and will need a great deal of effort and resources to properly accomplish.” She glanced at Justine and then Cosette, before giving Eponine a long, serious look. “Nevertheless since you clearly have earned the esteem and confidence of many, and since I believe in providing succour to the deserving, I deem it the most sensible course of action for me and what is mine to extend my assistance to your work---“   

A chorus of surprised gasps and applause drowned out Madame Fontenay’s next words, forcing Claudine to signal everyone to remain silent. The matron’s lips curled with annoyance but her expression was more cordial when she looked at Eponine again. “I will expect you and a legal representative to call at my home tomorrow so the proper arrangements can be made.”

Eponine nodded both with elation and relief. “Thank you Madame Fontenay,” she said steadily.

Allyce clapped her hands slowly. “It is good to see you are allied to our cause---“

“That is a different thing entirely, Madame,” Madame Fontenay retorted. She nodded to Justine. “Come now, we have much to do. You can tell your friends of it later.”

Justine rushed to hug Eponine and then Azelma. “I’ll be fine, she told me,” Justine whispered in Azelma’s ear. “She’ll help me set things right.”

“Promise you’ll me of it as soon as you can,” Azelma said.

Justine nodded quickly before hurrying to follow her aunt out of the house, all too eager to escape the ensuing uproar.


	11. Epilogue

****

**Epilogue**

The 12th of December that year finally saw the lamps being lit at 15 Rue Simon Le Franc, to welcome the first pupils attending the workshops. “It’s a big house and you’ll fill it up soon enough with all the classes,” Therese Perrot said proudly when she dropped by for a visit early in the day. “Citizenness Fontenay was more than just generous.”

“It wasn’t just her. Some of her friends also decided to help when they heard about what she said at the meeting,” Eponine explained as she wiped her hands, having just finished setting up benches in one of the larger rooms on the ground floor.

Therese plopped down on a rickety stool and smoothed out the long pelisse that helped disguise the swell of her belly. “Will you be teaching any classes?”

“If someone wants to learn about book stitching or filing up numbers, then I could. I haven’t been translating long enough to teach it well,” Eponine replied, carefully stepping out of the way of two girls who were scampering to fetch supplies from a cabinet.  She glanced to where Laure was still dozing in a basket set up in a corner. “I’d like to see you teaching too, maybe after your own little one is born.”

Therese laughed and shook her head. “Not if this one turns out like Damien. I won’t have the time or the energy left after running about all day!”

“I s’pose he should do his own bit of running too,” Eponine quipped.

“Speaking of running about, there’s been such a fuss about Justine and Stendhal’s engagement ball tonight!” Therese said. “I have sewn seven gowns and helped trim a dozen others, and I hear that Chetta and the other dressmakers have been busy too for this party alone. Madame Fontenay must have invited nearly every bourgeois living in her neighbourhood and the Marais.”

“While Stendhal and Justine have invited most of the Latin Quartier!” Eponine said mischievously.

Therese sighed. “I hope the Stendhals’ neighbours behave themselves.”

“They are my sister’s neighbours too. They won’t,” Eponine quipped before stepping into the house’s foyer. At that moment she caught sight of a sombrely clad woman standing near the door, silently looking about the room. It took Eponine a moment to recognize this newcomer, perhaps owing to the sudden starkness of the latter’s attire. “Madame Fontenay!”

“I was wondering if you were on the premises,” Madame Fontenay greeted. A slight smile played on her lips a she looked around the room. “This place is almost fit to be a proper school.”

“I should like to see it match one someday soon,” Eponine replied.

Madame Fontenay nodded knowingly. “Naturally you would say so. I commend you though for having accomplished a great deal in just a month.”

“It was only because there were so many people willing to help,” Eponine pointed out.

“According to my niece you had no shortage of support,” the older woman said as she dusted off her shawl. “I should thank you as well for your taking her into your home even for a short time, for propriety’s sake. It would not do for any of my kin to be thought of as living in scandal.”

“If she had to stay with the Stendhals prior to her marriage, I don’t think it would really be anything worse than how some people carry on when they are already respectable,” Eponine answered.

“Clearly you enjoy defying convention instead of waiting for the day you will be free of it,” Madame Fontenay huffed.

‘ _Like what she is hoping to do?’_ Eponine wondered silently. “Madame, there are rules too in a convent,” she finally said.

“Rules that are apart from the things of this world,” Madame Fontenay said, folding her hands. “I have no use for them, now that I have settled my properties and kept only what will be needed for my entry into the cloister of the Visitation Sisters tomorrow.”

“It would be quite the surprise for some of tonight’s guests,” Eponine remarked.

“It is none of their concern,” Madame Fontenay said as she got to her feet. “We’ll be expecting you and your family at the ball tonight.”

Eponine smiled and nodded. “Of course, Madame.”  All the same she could not help but heave a sigh of relief when Madame Fontenay finally took her leave. “She’s polite, but I don’t think I could get totally used to her,” she said when she saw Therese emerge from the next room, carrying Laure.

“I don’t know how anyone does,” Therese said flatly. “It is just the way she is. Cosette is as fine a bourgeois, but she is far more likeable than that.”

“I think it’s just the way she’s become, or she’s acting the same as she always did but now seems so different since it’s the rest of the world that’s changed,” Eponine mused as she picked up her still slumbering daughter. ‘ _Will we turn that way too when we are older?’_ she wondered even as she and Therese left for their respective workplaces. Yet there was no time to dwell on this thought, for there was much to do at the Rue des Macons that day, owing to Emile and Odette being busy preparing for the evening’s festivities.

It was about half past four in the afternoon when Eponine finally could leave to fetch her brothers at the schoolhouse and hurry home in order to also make ready for the party. “We’re not going to stay for everything since you all have to get some rest, especially Laure,” she assured Gavroche, Neville, and Jacques. “You just need to keep your things clean enough for then.”

“There’ll be a lot of good feed for the chickens,” Gavroche remarked. “They can have that, as long as they leave the cakes for us.”

“I can’t stop you---but your stomachs will if you eat too much,” Eponine admonished. “And please, I don’t want to catch you sneaking any treats in your clothes just to bring home; it’s not polite and it’s difficult to get the stains out.”

“There, you heard her,” Neville whispered to Jacques. “No hiding biscuits in your cravat like what you did at Combeferre’s wedding!”

“Chetta said I could bring them home, she didn’t say how to!” Jacques argued.

“You could have told me or Antoine, so we could have helped you wrap them up properly,” Eponine pointed out even as she began helping her brothers lay out the clothes they would wear to the party, and then hurried to feed Laure and get her into a clean dress. Only then she could see to her own preparations. She smiled as she brought out a green dress from her closet; it was one of her favourite gowns from the trousseau that her friends had put together as a wedding gift. She always liked how this particular shade of green brought out the rich reddish brown of her hair and set off her complexion well. For a few moments she feared that the dress would no longer fit, but much to her relief the garment flowed almost as smoothly over the curves of her chest and her hips.

 ‘ _Let’s drink for the lovely Fanchon, Let's sing something for her,’_ she sang as she searched for a hairpin on the bedside table. She paused at the sound of a knock on the door and smiled when she saw Enjolras walk in and nod to her as he set down some things before going to see Laure.

 ‘ _Ye oh, how sweet is her company, how much merit and glory she deserves,’_ Eponine continued to sing, but now she heard a low, rich humming mingling with the tune. She turned around to look at Enjolras, who was now rummaging through the closet. “Won’t you sing it instead, Antoine?”  

“Not here,” he deadpanned as he found a clean cravat and a maroon waistcoat. “I have not heard such a spirited rendition of it though since the first time we were both at the Cafe du Foy.”

Eponine burst out laughing, realizing now what he was referring to. It had been nearly two years since the day they had both argued themselves out of being detained on false charges, and ended up helping apprehend one of the real perpetrators hiding in plain sight at this famed cafe. “If I had the slightest inkling that you would have been there that night, I would t have asked you to dance with me.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “That would have been quite the diversion.”

“It would have been fun,” she said as she began to pin back her hair. “There, you’re almost laughing just from my talking about it.”

He smirked as he began putting on his waistcoat. “How were the lessons today?”

“Very well, at least that’s what I saw in the morning. They were going so well that we had to open up more of the rooms to fit in the students.”

“That is quite more than you expected, Eponine.”

Eponine smiled at this compliment. “Madame Fontenay visited for a little while. I think she liked what she saw, at least enough to say that it was almost a proper school,” she added as she began buttoning up his waistcoat.

“It serves the same aim; the opportunities it will open up for the students are more uplifting than any edifice,” Enjolras remarked as he clasped her hands.

‘ _How could he always see those things so readily?’_ she wondered silently.  “I s’pose some people would say it is _worse_ than unpaving hell for a barricade. It’s difficult to make someone unlearn something.”

“No true upheaval proceeds without meeting some opposition,” he pointed out.

“You know what people have been saying about this, and for a bit I was worried what you might think too, especially with all the trouble and rumors that have come up,” she admitted. She wrapped the fingers of her good hand around his knuckles as she met his questioning eyes. “I heard what you said to your colleagues, that _other_ night at the Cafe du Foy. Do you really say such things about me every day?”

Enjolras nodded before he kissed her lips. “I mean them.”

There were no words Eponine could find to match his sincerity, so she simply kissed him back, revelling in the warmth of his hand running up her back and pulling her closer. Yet just as he deepened the kiss, they both heard the boys running through the hall. “We do have a party to go to,” she whispered with undisguised frustration as she pulled away.

“Later though?” Enjolras offered, pulling a stray stand of hair out of her face.

She nodded before giving him a kiss on the cheek and getting up to fetch Laure, who gurgled and squealed on being picked up. “I wonder what is going to be the first word you’ll say; you hear so many things since your Papa and I bring you everywhere,” she said to the little girl. “Maybe you’ll end up surprising us.”

“Most likely she will,” Enjolras remarked as he helped Eponine wrap her up in a warm cape. “I know you don’t like that, _petit_ , but it’s better than having you get a cold,” he said when Laure scowled at him.

“She won’t mind so much after a bit,” Eponine reassured him as they went out to meet Gavroche, Neville, and Jacques.

Within an hour they arrived at the Fontenay residence on the Rue de’lOratorie. This house had undergone an even more startling transformation than the school on the Rue Simon Le Franc; the heavy dark drapes had been banished from the windows, gas lights bedecked the terrace and the lawn, and the great doors of the front hall were thrown wide open to admit a throng of well-wishers and revellers. “It’s even lovelier than the last time we were here, Laure,” Eponine told her daughter, who now seemed entranced at all this new light and colour.

“Does everyone here know each other?” Neville asked Enjolras as they were ushered into the ballroom.

“After a fashion,” Enjolras replied, keeping one hand firmly on Jacques’ shoulder to prevent him from scampering off towards a table of pastries.   

Gavroche sniffled and soon sneezed into a handkerchief. “Someone has worn stale summer flowers,” he said, making a show of holding his nose.

“You do that all night, your nose will stay that way,” Eponine quipped. It was a lively though incongruous party; there were a number of elderly men and women listening with sour looks on their faces to a young musician’s rendition of a selection from ‘ _Hernani_ ’, while some of the Latin Quartier’s journalists and artists tried to catch the interest of some prospective patrons. Madame Fontenay and her own coterie of widows and dowagers reigned over a side sitting room, while Azelma, Jehan, and a number of their colleagues were the center of a large crowd near a terrace. Odette Stendhal was also entertaining a group of friends who were loudly competing with each other for the best story. Yet the strains of music still rose above all this commotion, signalling the beginning of the first dance of the evening.

“There you are Ponine!” Cosette greeted as she walked up to her friend. “Glad to see you gentlemen here too,” she added, nodding to the Thenardier boys and Enjolras.

Enjolras nodded amiably to her. “Is Pontmercy with you?”

“Yes, and Papa as well,” Cosette said, gesturing to where Marius and Jean Valjean were conversing with some attorneys. “Everyone has been talking of the success of the first day of lessons. You should be proud,” she added more gleefully.

“I’m rather terrified to be honest,” Eponine laughed. “I was thinking just now that maybe a few of your usual guests at the Rue de l’Ouest refuge would be interested.”

Cosette grinned approvingly as she picked up Laure, who immediately cooed by way of greeting. “I’ll try to persuade them. It would be a sounder and more permanent situation than any home I could create.”

In the meantime Enjolras nodded to someone who had just entered the party. “How have you been faring, Rossi?”

“Better,” Rossi replied, managing a smile and standing up straight when he saw his colleague. “Though I am not so blessed to have such merry company,” he added, looking to Eponine and Cosette, and then the youngsters       

“Stendhal is over there, and so are the Prouvaires,” Cosette said. “My father is also here and he would like to speak with you.”

Rossi nodded slightly. “After I’ve paid my compliments to the bride-to-be. She is after all an old friend.”

It was all that Eponine could do to keep a straight face at the rueful tone in Rossi’s voice. “She’ll be around here shortly,” she said, seeing that Justine was still talking to some other guests.

Enjolras clasped Rossi’s shoulder. “In the meantime there are some other friends here, particularly from the Ecole Polytechnique.”

“Really now?” Rossi asked even as he followed his friend, stopping only to allow little Jacques dangle from his arm.

“Poor man! He’s clearly ailing, but what of?” Cosette trailed off concernedly.

“He’ll heal, I s’pose,” Eponine said. ‘ _He should, since he deserves better than to lose his heart that way, to Cerise of all people,’_ she thought.

Cosette sighed as she looked to the middle of the ballroom, where Justine and Emile, as well as some other couples were dancing a waltz. “I never would have thought before that they would meet, but here they are now, so happy.”

‘ _It is just like a scene from Cendrillon,’_ Eponine thought as she squeezed her friend’s arm. Indeed the ballroom was a veritable show of everything splendid and glorious, owing to the movements of the dancers and their glittering attire. Yet this was also a transformation, for she had never seen Emile look so tall and confident before. As for Justine, she was graceful in a flowing blue dress, but it was the sheer bliss on her face that made her appear so radiant. “It’s only the beginning. I mean, Justine is as young as we are, and Stendhal not much older. I should like to see what they’d be like in a few years, especially when they have children of their own,” she said as she carried Laure again.

“Odette will be the happiest about that,” Cosette said. She happened to glance towards the doorway and she tapped Eponine’s wrist. “I didn’t think that Justine’s mother and her sister would actually come,” she whispered.

Eponine felt her gut clench at the sight of the Lafontaine women, particularly since Justine’s brother was not with them. ‘ _Trust the one sensible person there to be away,’_ she thought as she took a step towards where the older Lafontaines were now approaching the dance floor.

“What is the meaning of this?” Citizenness Lafontaine demanded as she hurried up to her younger daughter and seized her arms. “An engagement, to such a man---“

“It seems, dear sister, that you are no longer abreast of the news,” Madame Fontenay cut in coldly. Although she was still garbed entirely in black, she wore intricately carved jet pendants and a sweeping sable mantle that only added to the impression of being formidable as she strode up to Citizenness Lafontaine, forcing the other woman to let go of Justine. “Come with me and I will explain this matter clearly. Alone,” she said, directing this last word curtly to Cerise.

Citizenness Lafontaine drew herself up to her full height. “How could you do this? I am her mother.”

“This is why I too demand an explanation,” Madame Fontenay said more harshly before heading back to the sitting room.  

Cerise gaped at the sight of her mother following her aunt, but after a moment she looked back at her own sibling. “What are you waiting for? Aren’t you going to dance?” she said to Justine and Emile. “Your guests would love the sight of it,” she said, giving a pointed look to the Prouvaires as well as Eponine.

“We’ll dance, but I think you should find a partner,” Emile said quickly.

“Why I think I shall for the next dance,” Cerise said, bowing mockingly to Emile before backing away from the dance floor.

Eponine felt Cosette’s arm close around her wrist. “She’s going to make a fool of herself or embarrass Antoine, I know it!” she hissed. “It’s that or she’ll say something horrid to my sister.”

“She wouldn’t dare,” Cosette remarked. “I’ve heard all the rumors as well as you have. You think anyone would risk anything for her now?”

Before Eponine could answer this, she looked to see Cerise talking to a group of young men and women, clearly neighbours of hers, but in short order they all drifted to the dance floor and left her alone with a glass of wine. ‘ _There will be no help from her brother’s colleagues either,’_ she realized, seeing that all the members of the diplomatic corps present at the gathering had now chosen other partners or were engrossed in conversation.

At length Cerise sauntered up to where Enjolras and Rossi were still conversing. “Would you care to dance, Citizen Enjolras?” she asked.

He looked at her coldly. “As a rule, I do not.”

“What will you do all evening now since your wife is so occupied?” Cerise cajoled, even as she glanced scornfully at Eponine. “You are here to celebrate---“

“For your sister and my friend,” Enjolras said before quitting the place on the pretext of following Gavroche and Neville to search for Jacques.

Cerise clucked her tongue as she looked at Rossi. “Eugene, please convince him.”

“I would rather have a word with you,” Rossi said gravely.

Cerise’s eyes widened with interest. “Then will you dance with me?”

“I will not, since you have made it clear who you prefer to be with. I refuse to be taken simply as a substitute and a fool, Citizenness Lafontaine,” Rossi replied clearly. “Not anymore.”

The girl stared at him in shock. “How could you say such a thing and still be a gentleman?”

“I would, as a consequence of your doings for your sister and even for me,” the young man replied.  “It’s a gentleman’s doing to be plain in these matters instead of indulging in intrigues, as you are fond of.”

Cerise paled visibly and looked down. “You love me.”

“I would have loved you, had you permitted it,” Rossi said bitterly. “I doubt you shall inspire any sentiment of that sort again, from me or from anyone.”

It seemed as if in that moment Cerise’s eyes were glistening. “Then you will leave me alone?”

“Only because you wished it,” Rossi said. “Goodbye, Citizenness Lafontaine.”

Eponine swallowed hard as she saw Rossi walk away from Cerise, who stood in stunned silence for a moment before turning to flee the ballroom. For a moment she wondered if anyone would reach out to Cerise to stop her, but the revelers danced on and the conversation still flowed. She looked to Cosette, who now wore a pensive expression. “Now her, I worry about.”

“Maybe someday it’ll turn around,” Cosette murmured.

Eponine shrugged even as she saw Azelma now talking to Justine, while Emile had drawn his mother aside to explain the situation to her. “I’m sorry that your sister showed up like this. I hope it doesn’t ruin the rest of the evening,” she said to Justine.

Justine sighed deeply. “I think she meant to confront my aunt about her decision---which wouldn’t have been necessary seeing how everything is turning out.”

“What do you mean?” Cosette asked.

“All the suitors, gone for now,” Justine said, wincing when she heard her mother’s outraged yell from where she and Madame Fontenay had been talking. “At least till my family gets back from Orleans, where they’ll probably be staying all winter. We usually only go there for Christmas.”

Eponine winced at the idea of the Lafontaines scurrying away their reversal in this far smaller city. “Does that really solve anything?”

“Ask my aunt about that,” Justine said a little mischievously. “Why else do you think she’s so eager to hide in a convent?”

Eponine’s jaw dropped in shock as she glanced from her friends to Madame Fontenay, who had a knowing look on her face. ‘ _Now there is someone who understood after all,’_ she decided even as the music began to play once more.


End file.
